He did not explain what had happened to her. ’ Disappointment flooded her. He leaned towards her as though anxious to see more of her face than that faint delicate profile gleaming like marble in the uncertain light. In the general survey of the prison, taken in the preceding chapter, but little was said of the Lodge. “Number 13, please, cabman. ‘You said it. ‘Because you are a bête, and a pig, and imbecile. Black blood and white bone flew into the corners of the crypt, slathering the dead faces of the corpses left piled in the corner. Was it that the struggle of things to survive produced as a sort of necessary byproduct these intense preferences and appreciations, or was it that some mystical outer thing, some great force, drove life beautyward, even in spite of expediency, regardless of survival value and all the manifest discretions of life? She went to Capes with that riddle and put it to him very carefully and clearly, and he talked well—he always talked at some length when she took a difficulty to him—and sent her to a various literature upon the markings of butterflies, the incomprehensible elaboration and splendor of birds of Paradise and hummingbirds’ plumes, the patterning of tigers, and a leopard’s spots. Let’s go up to my room.
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