She did nothing but live.

She lived every hour.

Priam felt truly that he had at last got down to the bed-rock of life.
There were twenty pages of the _Telegraph_, far more matter than a man could read in a day even if he read and read and neither ate nor slept.
And all of it so soothing in its rich variety! It gently lulled you; it was the ideal companion for a poached egg; upstanding against the coffee-pot, it stood for the solidity of England in the seas.

Priam folded it large; he read all the articles down to the fold; then turned the thing over, and finished all of them.

After communing with the _Telegraph_, he communed with his own secret nature, and wandered about, rolling a cigarette.