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    Luckily there is another cant to the questy. Has any fellow, of 
the dime a dozen type, it might with some profit some dull even-
ing quietly be hinted      has any usual sort of ornery josser, flat-
chested fortyish, faintly flatulent and given to ratiocination by
syncopation in the elucidation of complications, of his greatest
Fung Yang dynasdescendanced, only another the son of, in fact,
ever looked sufficiently longly at a quite everydaylooking stamped
addressed envelope? Admittedly it is an outer husk: its face, in
all its featureful perfection of imperfection, is its fortune: it ex-
hibits only the civil or military clothing of whatever passion-
pallid nudity or plaguepurple nakedness may happen to tuck it-
self under its flap. Yet to concentrate solely on the literal sense or
even the psychological content of any document to the sore
neglect of the enveloping facts themselves circumstantiating it is
just as hurtful to sound sense (and let it be added to the truest
taste) as were some fellow in the act of perhaps getting an intro
from another fellow turning out to be a friend in need of his, say,
to a lady of the latter's acquaintance, engaged in performing the
elaborative antecistral ceremony of upstheres, straightaway to run
off and vision her plump and plain in her natural altogether, pre-
ferring to close his blinkhard's eyes to the ethiquethical fact that
she was, after all, wearing for the space of the time being some
definite articles of evolutionary clothing, inharmonious creations,
a captious critic might describe them as, or not strictly necessary
or a trifle irritating here and there, but for all that suddenly full
of local colour and personal perfume and suggestive, too, of so
very much more and capable of being stretched, filled out, if need
or wish were, of having their surprisingly like coincidental parts
separated don't they now, for better survey by the deft hand of
an expert, don't you know? Who in his heart doubts either that
the facts of feminine clothiering are there all the time or that the
feminine fiction, stranger than the facts, is there also at the same
time, only a little to the rere? Or that one may be separated from
the other? Or that both may then be contemplated simultaneously?
Or that each may be taken up and considered in turn apart from
the other?