He got up, and left
her without a word.
Even at the risk of hurt to his dignity, of which there was no
danger from the presence of his sweet, modest little wife in the
best of company, it had been well for Tom to have allowed Letty
the pleasure within her reach; for that night Sepia's artillery
played on him ruthlessly. It may have been merely for her
amusement--time, you see, moves so slowly with such as have no
necessities they must themselves supply, and recognize no duties
they must perform: without those two main pillars of life,
necessity and duty, how shall the temple stand, when the huge,
weary Samson comes tugging at it? The wonder is, there is not a
great deal more wickedness in the world. For listlessness and
boredness and nothing-to-do-ness are the best of soils for the
breeding of the worms that never stop gnawing. Anyhow, Sepia had
flashed on Tom, the tinder of Tom's heart had responded, and, any
day when Sepia chose, she might blow up a wicked as well as
foolish flame; nor, if it should suit her purpose, was Sepia one
to hesitate in the use of the fire-fan. All the way home, her
eyes haunted him, and it is a more dreadful thing than most are
aware to be haunted by anything, good or bad, except the being
who is our life. And those eyes, though not good, were beautiful.
Evil, it is true, has neither part nor lot in beauty; it is
absolutely hostile to it, and will at last destroy it utterly;
but the process is a long one, so long that many imagine badness
and beauty vitally associable.
Pages:
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391