"I always
did hate those people," he said, "and they always have hated and
always will hate me. I am an Ishmael by instinct as much as by
accident of circumstances, but if I keep out of society I shall be
less vulnerable than Ishmaels generally are. The moment a man goes
into society, he becomes vulnerable all round."
I was very sorry to hear him talk in this way; for whatever strength
a man may have he should surely be able to make more of it if he act
in concert than alone. I said this.
"I don't care," he answered, "whether I make the most of my strength
or not; I don't know whether I have any strength, but if I have I
daresay it will find some way of exerting itself. I will live as I
like living, not as other people would like me to live; thanks to my
aunt and you, I can afford the luxury of a quiet, unobtrusive life
of self-indulgence," said he laughing, "and I mean to have it. You
know I like writing," he added after a pause of some minutes; "I
have been a scribbler for years. If I am to come to the fore at all it
must be by writing."
I had already long since come to that conclusion myself.
"Well," he continued, "there are a lot of things that want saying
which no one dares to say, a lot of shams which want attacking, and
yet no one attacks them.
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