It towered up high above the level of the pass, thousands of feet, still, shining, and white, and below, thousands of feet below, was a floor of little woolly clouds. The brain tires of resistance, and when it meets again and again, incoherently active, the same phrases, the same ideas that it has already slain, exposed and dissected and buried, it becomes less and less energetic to repeat the operation. He was, in fact, quite eager to go on living. Almost light-heartedly. She fought a compulsive urge to yank his shirt free. "We're too wide awake for that. Jack seemed glad enough to rest, his back against the wall, and closed his eyes.
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