He still read Hebrew, and he had seen in the
shop a copy of the Hebrew translation of the Moreh Nevochim of
Maimonides, which he greatly coveted, but could not afford to buy.
Like every true book-lover, he could not make up his mind when he
wished for a book which was beyond his means that he ought once for
all to renounce it, and he was guilty of subterfuges quite unworthy
of such a reasonable creature in order to delude himself into the
belief that he might yield. For example, he wanted a new overcoat
badly, but determined it was more prudent to wait, and a week
afterwards very nearly came to the conclusion that as he had not
ordered the coat he had actually accumulated a fund from which the
Moreh Nevochim might be purchased. When he came to the shop he saw
Barnes was there, and he persuaded himself he should have a quieter
moment or two with the precious volume when Clara was alone. Barnes,
of course, gossiped with everybody.
He therefore called again in the evening, about half an hour before
closing time, and found that Barnes had gone home. Clara was busy
with a catalogue, the proof of which she was particularly anxious to
send to the printer that night. He did not disturb her, but took
down the Maimonides, and for a few moments was lost in revolving the
doctrine, afterwards repeated and proved by a greater than
Maimonides, that the will and power of God are co-extensive: that
there is nothing which might be and is not.
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