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"Dear, innocent-wise enthusiast," thought Saxham, "dreaming over your impossible plan for regenerating the world! Beloved child-Quixote, tilting at the Black Windmills, how dare I, who was once the Dop Doctor of Gueldersdorp, love you and seek you for my own? Madness madness on the face of it!" But, madness or sanity, he could not choose but love her.
Dear innocent, wise enthusiast, with her impossible scheme for cleansing the Augean stable of this world! Chivalrous child-Quixote, tilting at the Black Windmills, whose sails are whirled by burning blasts from Hell, and whose millstones grind the souls of Eve's lost daughters into the dust that makes the devil's daily bread how should the Dop Doctor of Gueldersdorp dare to love her?
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