Their playwrights knew better. Scandal, murder, hair-rending and railing against the gods sold tickets. King is not a philosopher. He knows how to sell tickets.

But there remains Fédora. Once more, Oh, exotism!

As I see it, there are at least two reasons for what in the light of a score of Bergsonist readings of (American) modernist writers, seems a curious oversight.

I don't know what we shall do if we have to be a whole 'nother day in the house and in the dark.