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I should worry, I should care, I should marry a millionaire, He should die and I should cry, I should marry another guy.

But this has taken place in inner consciousness, which is outlaw and accepts no check. What of it? Life is possible anyhow. Except that even legitimate and reasonable things have to eome through this. Mongolia, or clear-light desert minus trees. What do we respect more than commerce and industry? But when Mr. Cecil Rhodes of the British Empire weeps many tears because he can't do business with the blazing stars, this is not decadence but inner consciousness speaking over all the highest works of presumptuous man." I was deeply wounded when he spoke of Stella in this way. Where did he get off, this rude bastard, having her bump me off in her inner consciousness? I burned with resentment. "First you talk about ancient wisdom," I said, angry, "and then you take a crack at love." "Well, I'm a sonofabitch!" he said, getting up in the Turkish heat and rewrapping the towel. "I didn't mean to hurt any feelings. Damn! If I did in this idle conversation to while away time, please forgive me..1 see you really are, really, in love. God bless you for such noble feelings! You're going to ship out soon too, and the danger as well as separation from the loved one has stirred up natural emotions. But this little, song of little girls also is ancient wisdom. This is not a reason for cynicism, but pride in the conquest of nature. The human mind has bounded the exploding oceans of universal space; the head has swallowed up the empyrean. But you shouldn't overlook also how much secret thought and conniving goes on. "Listen, since we're talking, let me give you a few examples from my practice of what goes on in other parts of the soul. A few years ago a client's wife reports she has lost a valuable bracelet. Perfectly trustworthy woman, and mother of three, a wealthy husband who has given her a hundred thousand dollars' worth of property, only keeping the power of attorney for himself. The bracelet is lost? Very well. It's just a routine matter for the company. They investigate, come back to the husband, and tell him, 'Your wife did not lose this bracelet, she gave it to her lover who was broke.' Yoy, indignation! 'My wife, a lover? My respected spouse, mother of children, who shows me constant affection and proofs of loyalty? My dear wife, my beloved of years?' Nevertheless her can has been over a barrel, she has spread, or equivalent. This poor man. Heart-shattered! How could it be! Imagine his pain and bewilderment that she should have such a secret from him. What a failure of life when he worked so hard that there should be a certain, guaranteed reason that life might last longer than from Thursday to Saturday. If anything deserves tears this does. However, he mustn't take the word of the insurance investigator, so he comes to me and I get him a private eve. He comes back with the same facts, that this lover is a bum with a prison record for pimping and dealing in hot goods. They show the poor husband a photo, even, so he can describe this character Thick nose, long sideburns. You know the type. Well, the poor fellow is going crazy. And now he finds that in the whole suburb where he lives he's the only one who didn't know about it. They're seen in the car, parked all over the vicinity. The woods, the bushes. It comes down on him like a busted house. 'Who is left among you that saw this house in her first glory? and how do ye see it now?'" Now, I reflected, you're Mintouchian again. As if I had an option. Do I have to come back Mintouchian, including the distressing parts? Yes, because to live is to be Mintouchian, my dear man. I went over all my secrets and found they were still in place. I still didn't know who was screwing whom, and 1 crept into my bed and shivered from the touch of death. "But I was saying"--he gave me a genial smile with heart-felt squint and then he yawned and enjoyed the golden light--"how