Conceivably he had a bias against too close an examination of
origins, and he held that the honour of the children should atone
for the sins of the fathers and the questionable achievements of any
intervening testator. Not half a dozen rich and established
families in all England could stand even the most conventional
inquiry into the foundations of their pride, and only a universal
amnesty could prevent ridiculous distinctions. But he brought no
accusation of inconsistency against his mother. She looked at
things with a lighter logic and a kind of genius for the acceptance
of superficial values. She was condoned and forgiven, a rescued
lamb, re-established, notoriously bright and nice, and the Morrises
were damned. That was their status, exclusion, damnation, as fixed
as colour in Georgia or caste in Bengal. But if his mother's mind
worked in that way there was no reason why his should. So far as he
was concerned, he told himself, it did not matter whether Amanda was
the daughter of a swindler or the daughter of a god. He had no
doubt that she herself had the spirit and quality of divinity.
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