“More so still for you,” said Lilly.
“It's life. It's life!” reiterated Jim. “Don't you agree?” He turned wolfishly to Clariss.
“Oh, yes—every time—” she drawled, nonchalant.
“Here, let's write it down,” said Lilly. He found a blue pencil and printed in large letters on the old creamy marble of the mantel-piece panel:—LOVE IS LIFE.
Julia suddenly rose and flung her arms asunder wildly.
“Oh, I hate love. I hate it,” she protested.
Jim watched her sardonically.
“Look at her!” he said. “Look at Lesbia who hates love.”
“No, but perhaps it is a disease. Perhaps we are all wrong, and we can't love properly,” put in Josephine.
“Have another try,” said Jim,—“I know what love is. I've thought about it. Love is the soul's respiration.”