Follow her he did, though bothered by unfamiliar words that fell glibly from her lips and by critical phrases and thought-processes that were foreign to his mind, but that nevertheless stimulated his mind and set it tingling.

Here was intellectual life, he thought, and here was beauty, warm and wonderful as he had never dreamed it could be.

He forgot himself and stared at her with hungry eyes.

Here was something to live for, to win to, to fight for--ay, and die for.

The books were true.