Reardon, his hands thrust into
the pockets of a shabby overcoat and his head bent forward, went
on at a slow pace, observant of nothing. For a moment or two he
delayed reply, then said in an unsteady voice:
'Your way of talking has always been to glorify success, to
insist upon it as the one end a man ought to keep in view. If you
had talked so to me alone, it wouldn't have mattered. But there
was generally someone else present. Your words had their effect;
I can see that now. It's very much owing to you that I am
deserted, now that there's no hope of my ever succeeding.'
Jasper's first impulse was to meet this accusation with indignant
denial, but a sense of compassion prevailed. It was so painful to
see the defeated man wandering at night near the house where his
wife and child were comfortably sheltered; and the tone in which
he spoke revealed such profound misery.
'That's a most astonishing thing to say,' Jasper replied. 'Of
course I know nothing of what has passed between you and your
wife, but I feel certain that I have no more to do with what has
happened than any other of your acquaintances.
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