“My dear Sinclair,” he said slowly, “it wasn’t my intention to say anything unpleasant to you. Besides, the purpose for which you’re now drinking your glasses of wine, neither I nor you know. The thing in you that constitutes your life, already knows why. It’s so good to know this: that inside us there’s a self that knows everything, wills everything, does everything better than we ourselves do.—But excuse me, I must get home.”
