He took Diane out. ‘Mad as hatters!’ ‘It is you who is mad,’ mademoiselle told him crossly. She wished he could smoke and dull his nerves a little. " "As like as life, Sir," observed Austin, peeping over Thornhill's shoulder at the portrait. What a pity! For all her ignorance of material things—the human inventions which served the physical comforts of man—how much she knew about man himself! She had seen him bereft of all those spiritual props which permit man to walk on two feet instead of four—broken, without resilience. Still, here we are in this dingy, foggy city.
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