His face was half hidden under a freshly pipeclayed sola topee—sun-helmet. I sit back now, letting life slip by and musing upon it; and I find my loneliness sweet. We two just love each other—the real, identical other—all the time. Over one of the pinnacles of the tower a speck of pallid light marked the position of the moon, then newly born and newly risen. “He looks as though he did, at any rate. I’m convinced that much of Russell’s investigations are on wrong lines, unsound lines. I want to be myself.
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