My
hypocrisy made me sick of living in my own body with myself. I threw off
the transient cloak of assumed belief. Once more I attacked the
stupidity of belief in a six-day God, inventor of an impossible
paradise, an equally impossible hell.
* * * * *
In the early spring I left school before the term was over, impatient,
restless, at odds with the faculty ... Stanton termed it "under a
cloud." I had my eyes set on another ideal.
* * * * *
Down in the mosquito-infested pine woods of New Jersey Stephen Barton
had located. Barton was possessed with the dream of making the men and
women of the world physically perfect--a harking back to the old Greeks
with their worship of the perfection of bodily beauty and health. I had
long been a reader of his magazines, a follower of his cult, and, now
that I heard of his planning to build a city out in the open country,
where people could congregate who wished to live according to his
teachings, I enrolled myself ardently as one of his first followers and
disciples....
Barton had taken over a great barn-like, abandoned factory building that
stood on the shore of an artificial lake--which, in his wife's honour,
he re-named after her, Lake Emily ... his wife was a fussy Canadian
woman who interfered in everyone's affairs beyond endurable measure.
Pages:
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248