Thus we might read: "As Honoria laid down the volume of Ibsen and went
wearily to her window, she realized that life must be to her not
only harsher, but colder than it was to the comfortable and the weak.
With her tooral ooral, etc.;" or, again: "The young curate smiled
grimly as he listened to his great-grandmother's last words.
He knew only too well that since Phogg's discovery of the
hereditary hairiness of goats religion stood on a very different
basis from that which it had occupied in his childhood.
With his rumpty-iddity, rumpty-iddity;" and so on. Or we might read:
"Uriel Maybloom stared gloomily down at his sandals, as he realized
for the first time how senseless and anti-social are all ties
between man and woman; how each must go his or her way without
any attempt to arrest the head-long separation of their souls."
And then would come in one deafening chorus of everlasting humanity
"But I'll be true to my love, if my love'll be true to me."
In the records of the first majestic and yet fantastic developments
of the foundation of St. Francis of Assisi is an account of a
certain Blessed Brother Giles. I have forgotten most of it,
but I remember one fact: that certain students of theology came
to ask him whether he believed in free will, and, if so, how he could
reconcile it with necessity. On hearing the question St. Francis's
follower reflected a little while and then seized a fiddle and
began capering and dancing about the garden, playing a wild tune
and generally expressing a violent and invigorating indifference.
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