He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. ‘I fear you mistake, Emile. The doors of several of the wards were thrown open for these parties, and as Jack passed, he could not help glancing at the wretched inmates. Anywhere! Moonlight and music—pleasing, you know, but quite unnecessary. They’re just a joyous softening of the outline—more beautiful than perfection.
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