The Moonstone

by Wilkie Collins

He had had a German education as well as a French. One of the two had been in undisturbed possession of him (as I supposed) up to this time. And now (as well as I could make out) the other was taking its place. It is one of my rules in life, never to notice what I don't understand. I steered a middle course between the Objective side and the Subjective side. In plain English I stared hard, and said nothing.

don't want to slander a dead man, sir," I answered. "But if he has purposely left a legacy of trouble and danger to his sister, by the means of her child, it must be a legacy made conditional on his sister's being alive to feel the vexation of it." "Oh! That's your interpretation of his motive, is it? The Subjective interpretation again!

As a consequence of this, he had come back with so many different sides to his character, all more or less jarring with each other, that he seemed to pass his life in a state of perpetual contradiction with himself.

The prospect of doing something – and, what is more, of doing that something on a horse – brought Mr. Franklin up like lightning from the flat of his back.

Gentlefolks in general have a very awkward rock ahead in life – the rock ahead of their own idleness. Their lives being, for the most part, passed in looking about them for something to do, it is curious to see – especially when their tastes are of what is called the intellectual sort – how often they drift blindfold into some nasty pursuit.

But compare the hardest day's work you ever did with the idleness that splits flowers and pokes its way into spiders' stomachs, and thank your stars that your head has got something it must think of, and your hands something that they must do.

Everything the Miss Ablewhites said began with a large O; everything they did was done with a bang; and they giggled and screamed, in season and out of season, on the smallest provocation. Bouncers – that's what I call them.

One after another, they were examined. One after another, they proved to have nothing to say – and said it (so far as the women were concerned) at great length,

The women were a sight to see, while the police-officers were rummaging among their things. The cook looked as if she could grill Mr. Superintendent alive on a furnace, and the other women looked as if they could eat him when he was done.

His eyes, of a steely light grey, had a very disconcerting trick, when they encountered your eyes, of looking as if they expected something more from you than you were aware of yourself.

He considered with himself for a moment, and went on – with a horrid clearness that obliged you to understand him; with an abominable justice that favoured nobody.

(Nota bene: – I am an average good Christian, when you don't push my Christianity too far. And all the rest of you – which is a great comfort – are, in this respect, much the same as I am.)

I am (thank God!) constitutionally superior to reason. This enabled me to hold firm to my lady's view, which was my view also. This roused my spirit,

Cultivate a superiority to reason, and see how you pare the claws of all the sensible people when they try to scratch you for your own good!

Away they went together, fighting the battle of the roses without asking or giving quarter on either side. The last I saw of them, Mr. Begbie was shaking his obstinate head, and Sergeant Cuff had got him by the arm like a prisoner in charge. Ah, well! well! I own I couldn't help liking the Sergeant – though I hated him all the time.

"When I came here from London with that horrible Diamond," he said, "I don't believe there was a happier household in England than this. Look at the household now! Scattered, disunited – the very air of the place poisoned with mystery and suspicion!

The truth is, my daughter inherits my superiority to reason – and, in respect to that accomplishment, has got a long way ahead of her own father.

We ended the day of rest, as hundreds of thousands of people end it regularly, once a week, in these islands – that is to say, we all anticipated bedtime, and fell asleep in our chairs.

Here was another of your average good Christians, and here was the usual break-down, consequent on that same average Christianity being pushed too far!

All I can do is to state the facts as they were stated, on that Monday evening, to me; proceeding on the plan which I have been taught from infancy to adopt in folding up my clothes. Everything shall be put neatly, and everything shall be put in its place. These lines are written by a poor weak woman. From a poor weak woman who will be cruel enough to expect more?

We are above reason; we are beyond ridicule; we see with nobody's eyes, we hear with nobody's ears, we feel with nobody's hearts, but our own. Glorious, glorious privilege! And how is it earned? Ah, my friends, you may spare yourselves the useless inquiry! We are the only people who can earn it – for we are the only people who are always right.

Would he apostatise from the faith? Would he abandon us at the Mothers'-Small-Clothes? Had we seen the last of his angelic smile in the committee-room?

My Aunt Ablewhite is a large, silent, fair-complexioned woman, with one noteworthy point in her character. From the hour of her birth she has never been known to do anything for herself.

In those words the invitation was given, and the glorious prospect of interference was opened before me.

The music she selected to play was of the most scandalously profane sort, associated with performances on the stage which it curdles one's blood to think of.

"There was a story (was there not?) about Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite. I am told he is an eminent philanthropist – which is decidedly against him, to begin with."