I shall have seen the last of you." "Oh!" she touchingly urged.
"Yes, for I should next find you simply brought to self-consciousness.
You'll be exactly what you are, I charitably admit--nothing more or less, nothing different.

But you'll be it all in a different way.

We live in an age of prodigious machinery, all organised to a single end.
That end is publicity--a publicity as ferocious as the appetite of a cannibal.

The thing therefore is not to have any illusions--fondly to flatter yourself in a muddled moment that the cannibal will spare you.
He spares nobody.

He spares nothing.