Once before--
about a horse, I had the same kind of distress. And it makes me
tender, sore-minded about everything. It will go, of course, in the
long run, and it's just like any other ache that lays hold of one.
One can't cure it. One has to get along with it. . . .
"I know, White, I ought to have sent that money, but how was I to
know then that it was so imperative to send that money? . . .
"At the time it seemed just pandering to his vices. . . .
"I was angry. I shall never subdue that kind of hastiness
altogether. It takes me by surprise. Before the messenger was out
of sight I had repented. . . .
"I failed him. I have gone about in the world dreaming of
tremendous things and failing most people. My wife too. . . ."
He stopped talking for a little time and folded his arms tight and
stared hard in front of himself, his lips compressed.
"You see, White," he said, with a kind of setting of the teeth,
"this is the sort of thing one has to stand. Life is imperfect.
Nothing can be done perfectly. And on the whole--" He spoke still
more slowly, "I would go through again with the very same things
that have hurt my people.
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