This Joan would hold them for a little. She lunged without warning again, and Gosse, just catching her blade on his own, was obliged to retreat backwards up the little stair. Supper was quickly served; the oldest bottle of wine was brought from the cellar; the strongest barrel of ale was tapped; but not one of the party could eat or drink—their hearts were too full. Gray and tranquil world! Amazing, passionless world! A world in which days without meaning, days in which “we don’t want things to happen” followed days without meaning—until the last thing happened, the ultimate, unavoidable, coarse, “disagreeable. I’m a little tired. We have seen great and sober-minded men come to this unholy city, and become degenerates.
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