“Listen! There was a Meysey Hill in Paris, an American railway millionaire. His eyes were set too close together. You get this queer irascible musician quite impossibly and unfortunately in love with a wealthy patroness, and then out of his brain comes THIS, a tapestry of glorious music, setting out love to lovers, lovers who love in spite of all that is wise and respectable and right. “She has lost something,” he declared, “something which brought the men in crowds around the stage at the ‘Ambassador’s. It is her duty to tell me, and I would not have her think that I had been trying to work upon your sympathies to learn her secrets. ” He shook his head slowly, smiling mysteriously. ” It was settled. Do you think that it makes for happiness to force oneself into the extravagant belief that love is the only thing in the world worth having, and to sacrifice for it independence, self-respect, one’s whole scheme of life. And meanwhile, we’ll just have these no doubt potentially lethal little claws of yours out of harm’s way. “As I have explained many a time, Lucia, the maladies of the blood and flesh do not afflict us. "Thanks.
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