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of men.
The little ferret-faced man was the first in the competition to pat him
on the back. The lender of oil cans was a radiant sun of genial
congratulation.... It seemed incredible to Denton that he had ever
thought of despair.
Denton was convinced that not only had he to go through with things, but
that he could. He sat on the canvas pallet expounding this new aspect to
Elizabeth. One side of his face was bruised. She had not recently
fought, she had not been patted on the back, there were no hot bruises
upon her face, only a pallor and a new line or so about the mouth. She
was taking the woman's share. She looked steadfastly at Denton in his
new mood of prophecy. "I feel that there is something," he was saying,
"something that goes on, a Being of Life in which we live and move and
have our being, something that began fifty--a hundred million years ago,
perhaps, that goes on--on: growing, spreading, to things beyond
us--things that will justify us all.... That will explain and justify my
fighting--these bruises, and all the pain of it. It's the chisel--yes,
the chisel of the Maker. If only I could make you feel as I feel, if I
could make you! You will, dear, I know you will."
"
No," she said in a low voice. "No, I shall not."
So I might have thought--"
"
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