The faculty for myth is innate in the human race. It seizes with avidity upon any incidents, surprising or mysterious, in the career of those who have at all distinguished themselves from their fellows, and invents a legend to which it then attaches a fanatical belief.
Mrs Strickland had the gift of sympathy. It is a charming faculty, but one often abused by those who are conscious of its possession: for there is something ghoulish in the avidity with which they will pounce upon the misfortune of their friends so that they may exercise their dexterity.
There was just that shadowiness about them which you find in people whose lives are part of the social organism, so that they exist in it and by it only.
I’m as obstinate as he is, and I’ll never divorce him. I have to think of my children.’ I think she added this to explain her attitude to me, but I thought it was due to a very natural jealousy rather than to maternal solicitude.
An appeal to the emotions is little likely to be effectual before luncheon. My own thoughts were then constantly occupied with love, but I never could imagine connubial bliss till after tea.
But I knew it was not kindness that prompted the offer. It is not true that suffering ennobles the character; happiness does that sometimes, but suffering, for the most part, makes men petty and vindictive.
I could not tell if she loved him. Poor pantaloon, he was not an object to excite love, but the smile in her eyes was affectionate and it was possible that her reserve concealed a very deep feeling. She
Strickland employed not the rapier of sarcasm but the bludgeon of invective. The attack was so unprovoked that Stroeve, taken unawares, was defenceless. He reminded you of a frightened sheep running aimlessly hither and thither.