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he, the subtle, able, important, voluptuous, cynical, complex Bindon,
possibly howling, and not one faithful simple creature in all the world
to howl in sympathy. Not one faithful simple soul was there--no shepherd
to pipe to him! Had all such faithful simple creatures vanished from
this harsh and urgent earth? He wondered whether the horrid vulgar crowd
that perpetually went about the city could possibly know what he thought
of them. If they did he felt sure some would try to earn a better
opinion. Surely the world went from bad to worse. It was becoming
impossible for Bindons. Perhaps some day ... He was quite sure that the
one thing he had needed in life was sympathy. For a time he regretted
that he left no sonnets--no enigmatical pictures or something of that
sort behind him to carry on his being until at last the sympathetic
mind should come....
It seemed incredible to him that this that came was extinction. Yet his
sympathetic spiritual guide was in this matter annoyingly figurative and
vague. Curse science! It had undermined all faith--all hope. To go out,
to vanish from theatre and street, from office and dining-place, from
the dear eyes of womankind. And not to be missed! On the whole to leave
the world happier!
He reflected that he had never worn his heart upon his sleeve. Had he
after all been too unsympathetic? Few people could suspect how subtly
profound he really was beneath the mask of that cynical gaiety of his.
They would not understand the loss they had suffered. Elizabeth, for
example, had not suspected....
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