CHAPTER XXV Spurlock pushed back his helmet and sat down in the white sand, buckling his knees and folding his arms around them—pondering. That is where life takes advantage of youth. “Lucy Albert, sir. ” The tired woman shut her eyes tightly for a moment, and then looked with them at Ann Veronica. Boldly he turned the knob of a certain door and entered. Three times he uttered a phrase: "A djinn in a blue-serge coat!" And each time he would follow it with a chuckle—the chuckle of a soul in damnation. “And aren’t there fees to pay at the Imperial College?” her aunt was saying—a disagreeable question. I hear her coming. The both of them puttering about the tidy two-story house, Lucy would serve them both steaming cups of tea in the front parlor. Mike chortled. But at the word “home” she turned again. “I’m not the Devil. And in these crowded four weeks, what had she learned? That all horizons were lies: that smiles and handshakes and goodbyes and welcomes were lies: that there were really no to-morrows, only a treadmill of to-days: and that out of these lies and mirages she had plucked a bitter truth—she was alone. “My dear, you have learned the hard way what happens when you do not eat. So he made merry at the dinner table, told comic stories, and was astonished at the readiness with which she grasped the comic side of life.
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