... But what angered the Machine-Fixer most was that B. and I
were about to be separated--"_M'sieu' Jean_" (touching me gently on the
knee) "they have no hearts, _la commission_; they are not simply unjust,
they are cruel, _savez-vous_? Men are not like these; they are not men,
they are Name of God I don't know what, they are worse than the animals;
and they pretend to Justice" (shivering from top to toe with an
indescribable sneer) "Justice! My God, Justice!"
All of which, somehow or other, did not exactly cheer us.
And, the packing completed, we drank together for The Last Time. The Zulu
and Jean Le Negre and the Machine-Fixer and B. and I--and Pete The Shadow
drifted over, whiter than I think I ever saw him, and said simply to me:
"I'll take care o' your friend, Johnny."
... and then at last it was _lumieres eteintes_; and _les deux
americains_ lay in their beds in the cold rotten darkness, talking in low
voices of the past, of Petroushka, of Paris, of that brilliant and
extraordinary and impossible something: Life.
Morning. Whitish. Inevitable. Deathly cold.
There was a great deal of hurry and bustle in The Enormous Room. People
were rushing hither and thither in the heavy half-darkness.
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