If by any chance I have made a mistake a word will bring me to you. And when I ask you why it is you do so, you have no answer. His attitude toward her was purely intellectual, free of any sentimentality, utterly selfish. You feel that that smile is for you, the words are for you, the whole song is for you. “I think, aunt,” she said, “you might trust to my self-respect to keep me out of that. That's the job. Its parents have perished. We can’t. Your speaking of the trial brings the whole scene to my mind. Always as black and bitter as gall. And God had let him do it! He was—and now he perfectly understood that he was—treading the queerest labyrinth a man had ever entered. My son went down after his death.
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