The inside was empty except for an infant, which from a distance looked utterly normal. His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. “Stop this—this humbugging,” he explained. Her specialty is the central thing in life, it is life itself, the warmth of life, sex—and love. As Jack conjectured, no one was there, and, though a lamp was burning on a stand, they decided upon proceeding without it. "My child!" he groaned faintly. " "And who is its mother?" asked Jonathan, in an eager whisper.
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