They would repeat "_mordicus_," even after the
proof, and if obliged to admit it, would rush off, banging the door
after them: "Can't stand any more of that!" But two, or perhaps ten
days after, they would come back and renew the argument, as if nothing
had happened.
Some treacherous ones provoked Clerambault to say more than he
intended, and having gained their point, exploded with rage. But even
the most good-natured told him that he lacked good sense--"good," of
course, meaning "my way of thinking."
There were the clever talkers also who, having nothing to fear from a
contest of words, began an argument in the flattering hope that they
could bring the wandering sheep back to the fold. It was not his main
idea that they disputed, so much as its desirability; they would
appeal to Clerambault's better side:
"Certainly, of course, I think as you do, or almost as you do; I
understand what you mean; ... but you ought to be cautious, my dear
friend, not to trouble the consciences of those who have to fight. You
cannot always speak the truth, at least not all at once. These fine
things may come about ... in fifty years, perhaps. We must wait and
not go too fast for nature ..."
"Wait, until the appetites of the exploiter, and the folly of the
exploited are equally exhausted? When the thinking of clear-sighted,
better sort gives way to the blindness of coarser minds, it goes
directly contrary to that nature which it professes to follow, and
against the historical destiny which they themselves make it a point
of honour to obey.
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