‘Everything is strange, really.’
‘Everything is real, strangely.’
Simon laughed, briefly, mirthlessly. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It’s a wonder how we can actually go on.’
‘Well, we simply must, that’s all. That, really, or strangely, is how. You see—after all, it’s all so transitory.’
‘Yes,’ said Simon; ‘but—’
‘Yes,’ said Flora. ‘But.’
And there really seemed no need, at least for the time being, to say another word.
Table of Contents
COVER PAGE
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT PAGE
DEDICATION
CONTENTS
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2
3
4
5
6
7
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9
10
11
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A Pure Clear Light Page 18
