" "Fill your glasses, gentlemen," observed Ireton, "and I'll tell you a droll thing Jack said this morning. Only you seem to me since the time when I knew you in Paris to have changed—to have changed in some subtle manner which I find at times utterly bewildering. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. I spent many happy days there. “My husband and all his friends are fools, and the life they lead is impossible for me. It is for that reason that this novel begins with her there, and neither earlier nor later, for it is the history of this crisis and its consequences that this novel has to tell.
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