But, indeed, indeed, in real life, in very truth, the heart
has not this simplicity. Only the heroes of romance, and a few
strong simple clean-shaven Americans have that much emotional
integrity. (And even the Americans do at times seem to an observant
eye to be putting in work at the job and keeping up their gladness.)
Benham was excited that night, but not in the proper bright-eyed,
red-cheeked way; he did not dance down the village street of Harting
to his harbour at the Ship, and the expression in his eyes as he sat
on the edge of his bed was not the deep elemental wonder one could
have wished there, but amazement. Do not suppose that he did not
love Amanda, that a rich majority of his being was not triumphantly
glad to have won her, that the image of the two armour-clad lovers
was not still striding and flourishing through the lit wilderness of
his imagination. For three weeks things had pointed him to this.
They would do everything together now, he and his mate, they would
scale mountains together and ride side by side towards ruined cities
across the deserts of the World.
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