There were moments when she doubted whether the whole mass of movements and societies and gatherings and talks was not simply one coherent spectacle of failure protecting itself from abjection by the glamour of its own assertions. She almost submitted to this ending of her adventure. 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. Again he played for her; and again the eruption of the strange senses that lay hidden in her soul. Besides, the sun had gone in and it looked like rain. You hurt the child. “You remember our first meeting?” “Yes,” he answered hoarsely. I hear the sound of his horse's feet in the yard. "Hear me," he cried, restraining himself with difficulty. He gave an order, the proa was floated and the sail run up. “Is it your maid?” he asked.
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