That was the true miracle of the gift; without actual experience, to imagine love and hate and greed and how they would react upon each other; and then, when these passions had served their temporary purpose, to cast them aside for new imaginings. ” “It was Cheveney!” he said slowly. Well-balanced, sane, wasn’t I? You never heard anyone call me a madman? I’m pretty near being one now, and it’s her fault. For an instant, Gerald wished the rest of the world away that he might go to her and administer appropriate comfort. "I'll admit that. From your pocket there. . CHAPTER IX. .
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