“I am going to America. But always this new phase in life which civilization called convention threw up barrier after barrier. They were childless and servantless, and they had reduced simple living to the finest of fine arts. But perhaps if people didn’t like clear, bright, healthy eyes—which is biologically understandable—they couldn’t like precious stones. Know that I love you, that I will always love you. Where the robber may cheer His spirit with beer, And drown in a sea of good liquor all fear! For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of Saint Giles! III.
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