Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest. A vague desire to justify himself ruffled her father. It was most amusing. He waited for hours after dusk but she never arrived. Rather a magniloquent term, perhaps, but what else am I to say? One of these is that the most absolutely selfish thing in the world is to give way to depression, to think of one’s troubles at all except of how to overcome them. We shall become a prey to the Philistines, and must turn honest in self-defence. It was a gray day in the spring of 1910.
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