"Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust
thou art to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul. Art is long and
time is fleeting. And our hearts though stout and brave, Still like
muffled drums are beating Funeral marches to the grave. Lives of great
men all remind us we can make our lives sublime, and, departing, leave
behind us footsteps on the sands of Time. Let us then ..." said Miss
Milliken respectfully ... "be up and doing...."
"All right, all right, all right!" said Sir Mallaby. "I don't want it all.
Life is real! Life is earnest, Sam. I want to speak to you about that when
I've finished answering these infernal letters. Where was I? 'We should
be glad to meet you at any time, if you will make an appointment...'
Bingley-on-the-Sea! Good heavens! Why Bingley-on-the-Sea? Why not Margate,
while you are about it?"
"Margate is too bracing. I did not wish to be braced. Bingley suited my
mood. It was gray and dark, and it rained all the time, and the sea
slunk about in the distance like some baffled beast.
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