"All life is a muddle, and we are all muddlers, more or less. That was the only sound he heard. ” “Gwen said she was happy. These were less like streets than labyrinths, hewn through an eternal twilight. So, by way of gaining time, he resolved to question him further. She’d prefer that I read classic literature, of course, but she only reads paperback romance novels, so she can’t exactly complain. There was a very substantial profit in the transaction, for he paid the natives in commodities—coloured cotton cloths, pipes and tobacco, guns and ammunition, household utensils, cutlery and glass gewgaws. "Where can I hide myself?" he added, glancing round the room in search of a closet. “Well anyhow—I don’t see the force of your objection, you know.
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