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He nodded assent. "No social influence, no fading out of all this generous clearness in the air for that might happen will change you back . . . ?" He answered me with honest eyes meeting mine, "No, Leadford, no!" "I did not know you," I said. "I thought of you as something very different from this." "I was," he interpolated. "Now," I said, "it is all changed."
This was a rest for me, an interlude, but to-morrow I should be William Leadford once more, ill-nourished, ill-dressed, ill-equipped and clumsy, a thief and shamed, a wound upon the face of life, a source of trouble and sorrow even to the mother I loved; no hope in life left for me now but revenge before my death. Why this paltry thing, revenge?
I remembered Willie Leadford, who had owned that arm and hand, as though he had been some one else. Of course! My history its rough outline rather than the immediate past began to shape itself in my memory, very small, very bright and inaccessible, like a thing watched through a microscope.
Something it was about the insignificance of science and the supreme importance of Life. Parload stood listening, half turned towards the sky with the tips of his fingers on his spectroscope. He seemed to come to a sudden decision. "No. I don't agree with you, Leadford," he said. "You don't understand about science." Parload rarely argued with that bluntness of opposition.
I think with Leadford, Nettie, that, as he put it, it is in the nature of things for men to be exclusive. . . . Minds are free things and go about the world, but only one man can possess a woman. You must dismiss rivals.
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