But it's not the love of barbarity like Finn's.

It's an evolution." "Ask Kenny," said Mac mischievously.

"He's an expert." "Love, my son," said Kenny wearily, "is poetic like summer lightning.
It flashes, blinds in a glory of light--and then disappears--in time." He tired early and sent them home.

Whitaker longed to linger but the moody cordiality of Kenny's good night was only too significant.

He departed with regret.
"Garry!" called Kenny at the door.
Garry turned back.
"I meant you to wait," said Kenny irritably, "but you got out before I could tell you." He closed the door.