"They're keen on the prize too. Some think
they'll grab the lot and have the devil's own drunk when the year's up.
But I'll look after that. Besides, when a chap has been living in the
pride of cleanliness for a year he'll get into the way of it and be less
likely to make a beast of himself. Anyway, I hope for the best. My God,
de Gex, if I didn't hope and hope and hope," he cried earnestly, "I
don't know how I should get through anything without hope and a faith in
the ultimate good of things."
"The same inconvincible optimist?" said I.
"Yes. Thank heaven. And you?"
I paused. There came a self-revelatory flash. "At the present moment," I
said, "I'm a perfectly convincible vacuist."
We left the tram and the main thoroughfare, and turned into frowsy
streets, peopled with frowsy men and women and raucous with the
bickering play of frowsy children. It was still daylight. Over London
the spring had fluttered its golden pinions, and I knew that in more
blessed quarters--in the great parks, in Piccadilly, in Old Palace
Yard, half a mile away--its fragrance lingered, quickening blood already
quickened by hope, and making happier hearts already happy.
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