He flies wide and far; he
sees all; he feeds on novelty; he passes from experience to
experience--liberal pleasures of mind and sense all the way. Well, he
tires of Egypt and its flesh-pots. He has seen as he hurried on--I hope I
am not growing too picturesque--too much of women, too many men. He has
been unwise--most men are. Perhaps he has been more than unwise; he has
made a great mistake, a social mistake--or crime--less or more. If it is
a small one, the remedy is not so difficult. Money, friends, adroitness,
absence, long retirement, are enough. If a great one, and he is
sensitive--and sated--he flies, he seeks seclusion. He is afflicted with
remorse. He is open to the convincing pleasures of the simple and
unadorned life; he is satisfied with simple people. The snuff of the
burnt candle of enjoyment he calls regret, repentance. He gives himself
the delights of introspection, and wishes he were a child again--yes,
indeed it is so, dear Miss Devlin."
Ruth sat regarding her, her deep eyes glowing. Mrs. Falchion continued:
"In short, he finds the bandbox, as you call it, suited to his
renunciations.
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