His wife shoos him on, from ten thousand a year to twenty thousand a year, on and on, in an enclosed treadmill that hasn't any windows.

He's done! Life's got him! He's no help! He's a spiritually married man." Amory paused and decided that it wasn't such a bad phrase.
"Some men," he continued, "escape the grip.

Maybe their wives have no social ambitions; maybe they've hit a sentence or two in a 'dangerous book' that pleased them; maybe they started on the treadmill as I did and were knocked off.

Anyway, they're the congressmen you can't bribe, the Presidents who aren't politicians, the writers, speakers, scientists, statesmen who aren't just popular grab-bags for a half-dozen women and children." "He's the natural radical ?" "Yes," said Amory.

"He may vary from the disillusioned critic like old Thornton Hancock, all the way to Trotsky.