A man might be without relatives, but certainly he would not be without friends, that is to say, without letters. We’ve deserted the posts in which we found ourselves, cut our duties, exposed ourselves to risks that may destroy any sort of social usefulness in us. “Forgive me,” he said, “but I want to hear it from your sister. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. I’m going up to London with the Widgetts to that ball. Queens and Kings, as always, were made to be manipulated.
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