“There is no—Good God!” he exclaimed. . In the discussion there was the oddest mixture of things that were personal and petty with an idealist devotion that was fine beyond dispute. Supposing the wire should break and her head tumble off her shoulders into the street? The whimsey caused another smile to ripple across her lips. “Touch a hair on his head and you will insure that I will never make love to you again. So, here he was, on the last lap of middle age, in China, having missed all the thrills in life except one—the war against Death.
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