Kangaroo watched with a heavy face like a mask.
“ It is time for the spirit to leave us,” he murmured in a somnambulist voice. “Time for the spirit to leave us.”
Somers, who had dropped his face, hiding it as he spoke, watched the other man from under his brows. Kangaroo, who still sat impassive, like a frozen, antagonised Buddha, gave himself a jerk of recovery.
“ Ah well!” he sighed, with a weary, impatient, condescending sigh. “I was never able to follow mysticism and metaphysics. One of my many limitations. I don’t know what you mean.”
“ But what is your ‘love’ but a mystical thing?” asked Richard indignantly.
“ My love? Why, that is something I feel , as plain as toothache.”
“ Well, so do I feel the other: and love has become like cardboard to me,” said Richard
