"All life is a muddle, and we are all muddlers, more or less. He stepped back further. He came along, he said, just to call, with large, loud apologies, radiantly kind and good. Anna jumped into a waiting hansom. Life! Life and love! It makes me want to be always young, always strong, always devoting my life—and dying splendidly. “What about blood banks? Have you ever tried them?” “I don’t just take blood, John. He was sitting back from the table now, with one arm over the back of his green chair and the other resting on the little table. ’ She smiled on the last words, adding, ‘Oh, I don’t blame you for trying. “She told you that?” “Yes. . Spurlock was by nature orderly, despite his literary activities. Almost instantly she had recognized the fallacy of such a statement.
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