"
"What is going to happen when your senses strike work?"
"I shall sit in the sun and fade out."
"I certainly do like your frankness."
"You think me a cynic, of course; I am nothing so futile, Miss Sabine.
A cynic is just a posing ass proud of his attitude. I see nothing to be
proud of in my attitude, just as I see nothing to be proud of in the
truths of existence."
"Suppose you had been poor?"
"My senses would be lasting better than they are, and when at last they
failed, I should die quicker, from want of food and warmth, that's
all."
"Have you ever been in love, Mr. Vaness?"
"I am in love now."
"And your love has no element of devotion, no finer side?"
"None. It wants."
"I have never been in love. But, if I were, I think I should want to
lose myself rather than to gain the other."
"Would you? Sabine, _I am in love with you_."
"Oh! Shall we walk on?"
I heard their footsteps, and was alone again, with the old gardener
lopping at his shrubs.
But what a perfect declaration of hedonism! How simple and how solid
was the Vaness theory of existence! Almost Assyrian, worthy of Louis
Quinze!
And just then the old negro came up.
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