The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. “I believe you are quite right so far as regards the present, at any rate,” someone remarked, from the depths of an easy chair. ’ For the moment I thought it was a telegram from Gwen. The day was so darkly overcast that she had to turn on the small white porcelain lamp that sat upon the makeup crowded vanity. She was reasonably certain why. As for money, Nigel has tons of it.
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