“Yes, I know. But it’s all nonsense, Bruce. You can carry scruples to altogether too great length. Tainted source! Everything’s tainted, if you come to that. The film’s a quite justified expression of modern civilisation--a natural outcome of the age. It gives amusement; it affords pleasure. It may be vulgar, it may be cheap, but we _are_ vulgar, and we _are_ cheap, and it’s no use pretending we’re not--not you, of course, Bruce, but people at large. A vulgar age wants vulgar amusement, and if we can give it that amusement we ought to; life’s not too cheery, anyway.” The glare in his eyes was almost paralysing me, but I managed to stammer on: “You live out of the world--you don’t realise what humdrum people want; something to balance the greyness, the--the banality of their lives. They want blood, thrill, sensation of all sorts. You didn’t mean to give it them, but you have, you’ve done them a benefit, whether you wish to or not, and the money’s yours and you’ve got to take it.” The cat suddenly jumped down. I waited for the storm to burst. “I know,” I dashed on, “that you hate and despise the film----” Suddenly his voice boomed out: “Bosh! What are you talking about? Film! I go there every other night.” It was my turn to say “Good God!” And ramming contract and cheque into his empty hand, I bolted, closely followed by the cat. 1923. LATE--299 I 1 § It was disconcerting to the Governor. The man’s smile was so peculiar. Of course, these educated prisoners--doctors, solicitors, parsons--one could never say good-bye to them quite without awkwardness; couldn’t dismiss them with the usual “Shake hands! Hope you’ll keep straight and have luck.” No! With the finish of his sentence a gentleman resumed a kind of equality, ceased to be a number, ceased even being a name without a prefix, to which the law and the newspapers with their unfailing sense of what was proper at once reduced a prisoner on, or even before, his conviction. No. 299 was once more Dr. Philip Raider, in a suit of dark-grey tweeds, lean and limber, with grey hair grown again in readiness for the outer world, with deep-set, shining eyes, and that peculiar smile--a difficult subject. The Governor decided suddenly to say only: “Well, good-bye, Dr. Raider”; and, holding out his hand, he found it remain in contact with nothing.