One doesn't choose to worry, I think, any more than
one chooses to lay bare a nerve." And then his eyes dropped, as if he
thought he had already said too much.
Again I studied him, repeating my definitions in my mind. He was not a
drunkard; he might have had no vice, so free was his face from any sign
of dissipation or indulgence; but there was suffering, possibly the marks
of some endured shame. The suffering and shadows showed the more because
his features were refined enough for a woman. And altogether it struck me
that he was possessed by some one idea, which gave his looks a kind of
sorrowful eloquence, such as one sees on occasion in the face of a great
actor like Salvini, on the forehead of a devout Buddhist, or in the eyes
of a Jesuit missionary who martyrs himself in the wilds.
I felt at once for the man a sympathy, a brotherliness, the causes of
which I should be at a loss to trace. Most people have this experience at
one time or another in their lives. It is not a matter of sex; it may be
between an old man and a little child, a great man and a labourer, a
schoolgirl and an old native woman.
Pages:
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34