Blogs and book

The
moments had not seemed to May things that would enter into or have any
concern with private life and intimate talks; they belonged to Dick
Benyon's dark horse, not to the mere man Alexander Quisante. Or had she a
little misunderstood the mere man? The thought crossed her mind that,
even if she adopted this conclusion and contrived to come to a better
understanding of him, it would be impossible to make the rest of the
world, of the world in which she lived and to which she clung, see
anything of what she saw. They would laugh if her new position were a
passing whim; they would be scornful and angry if it were anything more.
Suddenly Quisante spoke. What he said was not free from consciousness of
self, from that perpetual presence of self to self which is common enough
in men of great ability and ambition, and yet never ceases to be a flaw;
but he said it soberly enough; there were no flourishes.
"You can't be half-friends with me," he said. "I must be taken as I am,
good and bad. You must let me alone, or take me for better for worse.


Pages:
90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114