Beyond that everything was nebulous. He felt like a boy again, the taste for adventures was keen upon his palate, the whole undiscovered world of rhythmical things, of love and poetry and passion seemed again to him a real and actual place, and he himself an adventurer upon the threshold. “Neither you nor I, Nigel, are made of such stuff,” she answered. The flowers and turf, a wild strawberry, a rare butterfly, and suchlike little intimate things had become more interesting than mountains. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. Finally, at the exit into Regent’s Park, they ran against Miss Klegg. The entrance was concealed between two huge boulders within a clump of trees, and was now so overgrown that no one who did not know of its existence could ever hope to find it.
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