They therefore were men without eyes, without ears, without tongues. They therefore were men without love. Everything had been cleanly excised by the great surgeon, Civilization!
A wonderful invention, money. To think that puny man had, by means of that ingenious device, thwarted not only Nature, but God Himself!
If money had not been invented, there would not be great cities to be loveless in!
But those on the park benches, lizard-like sunning themselves, were tramps. The pedestrians had money. They, therefore, must have love.
He looked at them and saw that what they had was their hands in their pockets. Doubtless it was to keep their money there. By so doing they did not have to sit on park benches and fail to see the sky and the buds, and fail to hear the birds and the breeze.
And yet, as he looked he saw on their faces the same blindness and the same deafness.
On the benches sat immortal souls drugged with misery. On the paths walked men asleep with Self.
He alone was alive and awake!
The appalling solitude of a great city was all about him. He was the only living man in New York!
And Grace Goodchild was the only woman in the world! He loved her. He loved everybody. He wished to give, give, give!