together that afternoon. "It's not a cert, you know,"
he remarked." There's a cliff like that at Lulworth
Cove -- as high, anyhow -- and a little girl fell from
top to bottom. And lives to-day -- sound and well."

"But those rocks there?"

"One might lie on them rather dismally through a
cold night, broken bones grating as one shivered, chill
water splashing over you. Eh?"

Their eyes met. "Sorry to upset your ideals," said
Isbister with a sense of devil-may-careish brilliance.

"But a suicide over that cliff (or any cliff for the matter
of that), really, as an artist --" He laughed.
"It's so damned amateurish."

"But the other thing," said the sleepless man irritably,
"the other thing. No man can keep sane if
night after night --"

"Have you been walking along this coast alone?"

"Yes."

"Silly sort of thing to do. If you'll excuse my
saying so. Alone! As you say; body fag is no cure
for brain fag. Who told you to? No wonder;
walking! And the sun on your head, heat, fag, solitude,