See paragraph 1. Raising the bowl in his right hand, Jack glanced towards the balcony, in which the group of ladies were seated, and begged to drink their healths; he then turned to Kneebone and the others, who extended their hands towards him, and raised it to his lips. We can’t afford to turn our women, our Madonnas, our Saint Catherines, our Mona Lisas, our goddesses and angels and fairy princesses, into a sort of man. That is not reasonable. So, here he was, on the last lap of middle age, in China, having missed all the thrills in life except one—the war against Death. Let’s go up to my room. ” “Our cases are scarcely similar,” Anna remarked.
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