'Out?'
'Out--yes,' Minks echoed faintly, wondering why that particular word
was chosen. He felt a little startled. This earnest talk, moreover,
stirred the subconsciousness in him, so that he remembered that
unfinished sonnet he had begun weeks ago at Charing Cross. If he were
alone now he could complete it. Lines rose and offered themselves by
the dozen. His master's emotion had communicated itself to him. A
breath of that ecstasy he had already divined passed through the air
between them.
'It's what the Contemplative Orders attempt---' he continued, yet half
to himself, as though a little bemused.
'Out, by George! Out!' Rogers said again.
So emphatic was the tone that Minks half rose from his chair to go.
'No, no,' laughed his chief; 'I don't mean that you're to get out.
Forgive my abruptness. The fact is I was thinking aloud a moment. I
meant--I mean that you've explained a lot to me I didn't understand
before--had never thought about, rather. And it's rather wonderful,
you see. In fact, it's _very_ wonderful. Minks,' he added, with the
grave enthusiasm of one who has made a big discovery, 'this world _is_
a very wonderful place.'
'It is simply astonishing, Mr. Rogers,' Minks answered with
conviction, 'astonishingly beautiful.'
'That's what I mean,' he went on.
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