In this there was something splendid, but there was something tragic, too.

It was all very well for that young Jew to burn himself up with his talk about freedom, his feverish searching for new gods.

"In five years," Roger told himself, "Mr.Isadore Freedom will either tone down or go stark mad." But quite probably he would tone down, for he was only a youngster, these were Isadore's wild oats.

But this was no longer Deborah's youth, she had been at this job ten years.

And she hadn't gone mad, she had kept herself sane, she had many sides her father knew.