He
has got to be mighty careful what he is about with his captive. And the
greater the demand he makes on it in the exultation of his pride the more
likely it is to turn on him and burn him to a cinder . . . "
"A far-fetched enough parallel," I observed coldly to Marlow. He had
returned to the arm-chair in the shadow of the bookcase. "But accepting
the meaning you have in your mind it reduces itself to the knowledge of
how to use it. And if you mean that this ravenous Anthony--"
"Ravenous is good," interrupted Marlow. "He was a-hungering and
a-thirsting for femininity to enter his life in a way no mere feminist
could have the slightest conception of. I reckon that this accounts for
much of Fyne's disgust with him. Good little Fyne. You have no idea
what infernal mischief he had worked during his call at the hotel. But
then who could have suspected Anthony of being a heroic creature. There
are several kinds of heroism and one of them at least is idiotic. It is
the one which wears the aspect of sublime delicacy. It is apparently the
one of which the son of the delicate poet was capable.
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