. . .
The perfected and ancient vices of China wrapped about Prothero like
some tainted but scented robe, and all too late Benham sought to
drag him away. And then in a passion of disgust turned from him.
"To this," cried Benham, "one comes! Save for pride and
fierceness!"
"Better this than cruelty," said Prothero talking quickly and
clearly because of the evil thing in his veins. "You think that you
are the only explorer of life, Benham, but while you toil up the
mountains I board the house-boat and float down the stream. For you
the stars, for me the music and the lanterns. You are the son of a
mountaineering don, and I am a Chinese philosopher of the riper
school. You force yourself beyond fear of pain, and I force myself
beyond fear of consequences. What are we either of us but children
groping under the black cloak of our Maker?--who will not blind us
with his light. Did he not give us also these lusts, the keen knife
and the sweetness, these sensations that are like pineapple smeared
with saltpetre, like salted olives from heaven, like being flayed
with delight.
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