But, say,
how do you fill up the time if you do nothing to make money?"
"I am going through the world," said I, "on an adventurous quest,
like a knight--or a baronet, if you will--of the Round Table. I
am in quest of a Theory of Life."
"I guess I was born with it," cried young New York.
"I guess I'll die without finding it," said I.
London again. My quiet house. Antoinette and Stenson. The
well-ordered routine of comfort. My books. The dog's-eared
manuscript of the "History of Renaissance Morals," unpacked by
Stenson and hid in its usual place on the writing-table. Nothing
changed, yet everything utterly different.
A growing distaste for the forced acquaintanceships of travel and
a craving for home brought me back. Save perhaps in health I had
profited little by my journeyings. My bodily shell formed part
of strange landscapes and occurred in fortuitous gatherings of
men, but my heart was all the time in my Mausoleum by the
Regent's Park. I was drawn thither by a force almost magnetic,
irresistible.
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