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Gissing, George, 1857-1903

"Denzil Quarrier"

We have to say: It doesn't concern us! And no more it
does. We haven't the ordering of the world; we can't alter the vile
course of things. I like to swear over it now and then (especially
when I pass a London hospital), but I soon force myself to think of
something else. You must do the same--even to the swearing, if you
like. There's a tendency in our time to excess of humanitarianism--
I mean a sort of lachrymose habit which really does no good. You
represent it in some degree, I'm afraid--eh? Well, well, you've
lived too much alone--you've got into the way of brooding; the
habit of social life will strengthen you."
"I hope so, Denzil."
"Oh, undoubtedly! One more little drop of wine before the coffee.
Nonsense! You need stimulus; your vitality is low. I shall prescribe
for you henceforth. Merciful heavens! how that French woman does
talk! A hundred words to the minute for the last half hour."
A letter had arrived for him at the hotel in his absence. It was
from Mr. Hornibrook's agent, announcing that the house at Polterham
was now vacated, and that Mr. Quarrier might take possession just as
soon as he chose.
"_That's_ all right!" he exclaimed, after reading it to Lilian. "Now
we'll think of getting back to London, to order our furniture, and
all the rest of it. The place can be made habitable in a few weeks,
I should say.


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