There was a black fear in his heart. “My dear Miss Stanley, when I talked to you the other afternoon of work and politics and such-like things, my mind was all the time resenting it beyond measure. And like that gospel it meant something, something different from its phrases, something elusive, and yet something that in spite of the superficial incoherence of its phrasing, was largely essentially true. If only for the sake of her argument with her home, she wanted success. “It couldn’t be. Why didn’t I die? Why does God hate me so? Why does He not want me? I didn’t die because I’m weak, because I am cursed! I hate this poisoned world! But most of all. His nose was large but also fine and angular, tapering to a point at the end like a nobleman’s. The boy was all conscience, and he suffered through this conscience to such lengths that the law would be impotent to add anything.
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