"But do you wish to?"

For a moment Isaacson did not answer.

"I do and I don't," he said, after the pause. "Work holds one strangely,
because, if one is worth anything as a worker, its grip is on the soul.
Part of me wants to escape, often wants to escape."

He remembered a morning ride, his desire of his "own place."

"The whole of me wants to escape," Nigel replied.

He looked about him. People were seeking "pleasure" in the darkness. He
saw them standing at street corners, watchfully staring lest they should
miss the form of joy. Cabs containing couples rolled by, disappeared
towards north and south, disappeared into the darkness.

"I want to get into the light."

"Well, there it is before us."

Isaacson pointed to the brilliant illumination of Piccadilly Circus.

"I want to get into the real light, the light of the sun, and I want
every one else to get into it too."

"You carry your moral enthusiasm into all the details of your life,"
exclaimed Isaacson. "Would you carry the world to Egypt?"

Nigel took his arm.