Manchurian Books

"One always breakfasts," observed St. George. "The first day that
the first men spend on Mars I wonder whether the first thing they do
will be to breakfast."
"Poor old Mars has got to step down now," said Amory. "We are one
farther on. I don't know how it will be, but if I felt on Mars the
way I do now, I should assent to breakfast. Shouldn't you?"
"On my life, Toby," said St. George, "as an idealist you are
disgusting. Yes, I should."
The table had been spread before an open window, and the window
looked down upon the palace garden, steeped in the gold of the sunny
morning, and formal with aisles of mighty, flowering trees. Within,
the apartment was lofty, its walls fashioned to lift the eye to
light arches, light capitals, airy traceries, and spaces of the hue
of old ivory, held in heavenly quiet. The sense of colour, colour
both captive and atmospheric, was a new and persistent delight, for
it was colour purified, specialized, and infinitely extended in
either direction from the crudity of the seven-winged spectrum.


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