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"All right," replied Sheppard, with affected indifference. . “Fine. The teacher droned on and on about the mournful funerary love of Romeo and Juliet, a tale she had long since tired of. “I’m covered. “You, anyhow, don’t deserve it,” he said. “Stop,” he said. " "Let's toddle over to the Victoria at once. Were I a painter of subject pictures, I would exhaust all my skill in proportion and perspective and atmosphere upon the august seat of empire, I would present it gray and dignified and immense and respectable beyond any mere verbal description, and then, in vivid black and very small, I would put in those valiantly impertinent vans, squatting at the base of its altitudes and pouring out a swift, straggling rush of ominous little black objects, minute figures of determined women at war with the universe. They turned off at Glen Grove, a sleepy town of less than two hundred. ’ ‘You mean Valade? Certainly not. . As the Wastrel played, Spurlock knew that the man saw the inevitable end—death by drink; saw the glory of the things he had thrown away, the past, once so full of promise.
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