Something like a snarl crossed his face, and ignoring the pistol, he moved forward, seizing her shoulders. To preach a fine sermon every Sunday so that he would lose neither the art nor the impulse; and this child, in secret rebellion, taking it down in long hand during odd hours in the week! Preaching grandiloquently before a few score natives who understood little beyond the gestures, for the single purpose of warding off disintegration! It reminded the doctor of a stubborn retreat; from barricade to barricade, grimly fighting to keep the enemy at bay, that insidious enemy of the white man in the South Seas—inertia. Birthdays just ain’t the same once you get old kiddo. The street was deserted, no pedestrian school-goers walked immediately in front or behind them. She heard her husband’s heavy tread descending the stairs, and the wheels of his carriage as he drove off. And not only so, but that it was after all, a more systematic and particular method of examining just the same questions that underlay the discussions of the Fabian Society, the talk of the West Central Arts Club, the chatter of the studios and the deep, the bottomless discussions of the simple-life homes. I know my son's voice too well.
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