Suddenly he was sorry for this:
Daniel was what was generally known as a strong man. Men deep in the
national finances of their country spoke to Lee admiringly of him; it
was conceded that he was a force. Lee wasn't interested in that--in his
brother's ability, it might be, to grip an industry by the throat. He
envied, speculated about, the younger man's calmness, the Chinese
quality of his silence, the revelations of his carefully few words.
Daniel, in past years, had been often drunk, various women had been
seriously or lightly associated with his name; but he appeared to have
cast them, the Bacardi and the blandishments, entirely aside. He seemed
as superior to the dragging and wearing of life as a figure carved in
stone, a Buddha, any Eastern presentment of the aloof contempt of a
serene wisdom at the mountain of its own flesh. Lee, beside his
brother, resembled a whirlpool of dust temporarily formed by the wind
in a road.
Daniel had never married, he had been too cunning for that fragrant
trap, as well. What were his vices? But were habits, self-indulgences,
held in the background, ruthlessly subordinated to primary activity,
vices? Lee wished now that Daniel had seen Cytherea; he was certain
that the other would have said something valuable about her. Through
his long contact with the naked tropics Daniel understood many things
hidden from him.
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