She was informed by Ah Cum that the Chinaman was one of the literati and that he was expounding the deathless philosophy of Confucius, which, summed up, signified that the end of all philosophy is Nothing. He tore it down just as the Wastrel rose, wavering slightly. It just made me mad to the boiling point. You might be able to use the picture some day. And the fences are down for good. Goopes disconcerted the Alderman a little by abruptly challenging the roguish-looking young man in the orange tie (who, it seemed, was the assistant editor of New Ideas) upon a critique of Nietzsche and Tolstoy that had appeared in his paper, in which doubts had been cast upon the perfect sincerity of the latter. “You say that he is alive. “Delusion!” “You can call it what you like,” she said. She put a hand to the lad’s cold cheek and choked on a sob. She romanticized, imagining a life on the High Seas. It seemed to her that it was her duty to get up and clamor to go home to her room, to protest against his advances as an insult.
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