If, on the other hand, it's merely
a stubborn streak, that won't let you admit that you've carried your
proud little head on an over-stiff neck, do you think it's worth the
price? I don't. I'm not scolding, little person. I'm sick and sore
at the pass we've come to. No damn-fool pride can close my eyes to the
fact or keep me from admitting freely that I love you just as much and
want you as longingly as I did the day I put you aboard the _Stanley
D._ at Bella Coola. I thought you were stepping gladly out of my life
then. And I let you go freely and without anything but a dumb protest
against fate, because it was your wish. I can step out of your life
again--if it is your wish. But I can't imprison myself in your cities.
I can't pretend, even for your sake, to play the game they call
business. I'm neither an idler nor can I become a legalized buccaneer.
I have nothing but contempt for those who are. Mind you, this is not
so sweeping a statement as it sounds. No one has a keener appreciation
of what civilization means than I. Out of it has arisen culture and
knowledge, much of what should make the world a better place for us
all. But somehow this doesn't apply to the mass, and particularly not
to the circles we invaded in Granville.
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