His patient was distinctly of a different order of life. “Don’t you know, child, that this is torture for me? What in God’s name more can you have to tell me?” Her face had become almost like a marble image. ‘See that writing table? Go and look in the drawer there. ” “I have a clue, at any rate,” he remarked, smiling. ‘Who in the name of heaven is this Leonardo? And why did he kiss you?’ ‘He was an Italian soldier, and he wanted to kiss me,’ Melusine said, goaded. “It’s glorious good!” “Suppose now—look at this long snow-slope and then that blue deep beyond —do you see that round pool of color in the ice—a thousand feet or more below? Yes? Well, think—we’ve got to go but ten steps and lie down and put our arms about each other. And the situation it makes!—the situation!” Thus Manning, egotistical, inconsecutive, unreal.
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