. For in life there is but one hour: an epic or an idyll: all other hours lead up to and down from it. She was alarmed at how little her husband Gianfrancesco packed for the trip, leaving behind his best scarlet and black lucco, which he wore for every business and political meeting. Then he got up and left her. What a God-forsaken fool he was! And dimly, out there somewhere in the South Seas—the beach! Already he sensed the fascination of the inevitable; and with this fascination came the idea of haste, to get there quickly and have done. " "Well, imagination beats me!" "It's something Ruth saw.
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