I shall taste a little of every known bottle, feel everything there is to feel except the thing that hurts, laugh with any one whose laugh is catching, do everything there is to do, go into every booth in the big Bazaar; and when I'm tired out and there's nothing left, I shall slip out of the endless procession with a thousand things stored away in my memory.

Isn't that the way to live ?" From the superior height of twenty-four, Martin looked down on Joan indulgently.

He didn't take her frank and unblushing individualism seriously.

She was just a kid, he told himself.

She was a girl who had been caged up and held in.