’ ‘Je m’en moque. Every so often a wall of water, thin and jadecoloured, would rise up over the port bow, hesitate, and fall smacking amidships. ‘You know about that?’ ‘It was the only possible deduction. The wastrel, the ne'er-do-well, who went mostly nobly to a fine end. He felt like a boy again, the taste for adventures was keen upon his palate, the whole undiscovered world of rhythmical things, of love and poetry and passion seemed again to him a real and actual place, and he himself an adventurer upon the threshold. I have been used to living in apartments in Paris, but I suppose the system is different here.
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