“I’m not nearly so sure as you. You must live for me. Suddenly the door of the flat opened and closed. ‘Mad as hatters!’ ‘It is you who is mad,’ mademoiselle told him crossly. What passed between them I cannot think—I dare not. “You silly wimmin,” he said over and over again throughout the hearing, plucking at his blotting-pad with busy hands. It is the immediate inspiration of confidence; it alleviates pain, because we know by that smile that pain is soon to leave us; it becomes the bulwark against our depressive thoughts of death; and it is the promise that we still have a long way to go before we reach the Great Terminal.
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