His doubts, for
example, were real; with no will, no effort on his part, they invaded
his mind ceaselessly. Cytherea's disturbing charm was real, as definite
as Fanny's quiet actuality. However, he wasn't interested in an
abstract arraignment of life, but intent only on the truth about
himself. Lee wanted to discharge fully his duty to existence--in the
more inglorious phrase, he didn't want to make a fool of himself--and
yet it was growing more difficult all the while to distinguish folly
from sense.
This affair, if it did exist, of Peyton's with Mina Raff wasn't so
easily determined as Fanny insisted. Perhaps, like his own, Peyton
Morris' life had been restricted by artificial barriers thrown about
the rebellious integrity of his fundamental being. Few children could
stand out against the combined forces of the older world; but it was
conceivable that, later, like a chrysalis, they might burst the hard,
superimposed skin and emerge triumphant.
That damned problem of self-sacrifice!
How much claim had men upon each other? What did children gain who
sacrificed their lives for their parents? It was supposed to bring them
nobility; but, at the same time, didn't it develop in the parents the
utmost callous selfishness; didn't the latter, as their needs were
exclusively consulted, grow more exacting, unreasonable? Was not love
itself the most unreasonable and exacting thing imaginable?
Once surrendered to it, the tyranny of a beloved subject was absolute:
Lee told himself that the emotion he was considering--the most sacred
of earthly ties--ignominiously resembled the properties of fly paper.
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