She could still remember his face, the perpetually wet lips that turned down at the sides, his drooping Roman eyes. "All my life I've dreamed of something like this," he said, divertingly, with a gesture which included the yacht. His age was not far from fifty. 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.
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