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Chapter 1

           Well!itwasnodoubtextremelyfoolishofustodreamthatwemighthelptoregenerateaworldinwhichbothPlatoandChrisappeartohavefailed—yetthemosthardenedcynicwillscarcelydenythatitispleasanttolookbacktothedaysofhisyouthifhecanthinkthatatleastthen,ifonlyonceinhislife,hehadnobleimpulses.

           Thelampburnedbadly,andIhadtore-trimitbeforeIcouldsettledowntoreadmyfriend’sletter.Nextdoorsomeonewasplayingaviolin,andplayingitwell.Tenderlyandyetwithacertainamountofbriothenotescamedancingfromthebow,andIlistened,vaguelypleased.BeingfaintwithhungerIwassomewhatinalistlessstateborderingonstupor—andthepenetratingsweetnessofthemusicappealingtothesensuousandæstheticpartofme,drownedforthemomentmereanimalcraving.

           "Thereyougo!"Imurmured,apostrophizingtheunseenmusician—"practisingawayonthatfriendlyfiddleofyours—nodoubtforamerepittancewhichbarelykeepsyoualive.Possiblyyouaresomepoorwretchinacheaporchestra—oryoumightevenbeastreet-playerandbeabletoliveinthisneighbourhoodoftheélitestarving—youcanhavenohopewhateverofbeingthe‘fashion’andmakingyourbowbeforeRoyalty—orifyouhavethathope,itiswildlymisplaced.Playon,myfriend,playon!—thesoundsyoumakeareveryagreeable,andseemtoimplythatyouarehappy.

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