I am afraid I am a composition of
bad stuff; I did not win a very particularly good name on the Continent;
I begin to know myself, and in comparison with you, dear Catherine----'
'You speak to Chloe,' she said. 'Catherine is a buried person. She died
without pain. She is by this time dust.'
The man heaved his breast. 'Women have not an idea of our temptations.'
'You are excused by me for all your errors, Caseldy. Always remember
that.'
He sighed profoundly. 'Ay, you have a Christian's heart.'
She answered, 'I have come to the conclusion that it is a Pagan's.'
'As for me,' he rejoined, 'I am a fatalist. Through life I have seen my
destiny. What is to be, will be; we can do nothing.'
'I have heard of one who expired of a surfeit that he anticipated, nay
proclaimed, when indulging in the last desired morsel,' said Chloe.
'He was driven to it.'
'From within.'
Caseldy acquiesced; his wits were clouded, and an illustration even
coarser and more grotesque would have won a serious nod and a sigh from
him.
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