"That saves him. No man of letters, if he tried all night, could think anything so deliciously absurd. Don't you wish you could feel like that!"
He rose to it, his very excitement kindling his intellectual flame.
"To feel myself an immortal, a blessed god!"
They played together, profanely, with the idea that Nicky was after all divine.
"Such a tragic little god," said Jane, with a pitiful mouth, "a little god without a single apostle or a prophet—nobody," she wailed, "to spread the knowledge of him."
"I say—we'll build an altar on Wendover, to Nicky as the Unknown God."
"He won't like that, our calling him unknown."
"Let's call him the Unapparent—the Undeveloped. He is the Undeveloped."
"In one aspect. In another he's a finished poem, an incarnate lyric——"
"An ode to immortality on legs——"