 His dream had dissolved, like all two lovely things, at the first touch of reality. I think he realized, too, that his mind dwelt in a world of its own. Its own Shangri-La. And that with their going, Maranson and Lozen, that world was in peril. He saw the corridors of his imagination twist and strain under the impact. The pavilions were toppling and all about was ruined. Good heavens, man, you talk as though...