Yet Trent knew that he
was a type of that class which would look upon him as an outsider,
and a black sheep, until he had bought his standing. They would
expect him to conform to their type, to learn to speak their jargon,
to think with their puny brains and to see with their short-sighted
eyes. At the "Criterion" he turned in and had a drink, and, bolder
for the wine which he had swallowed at a gulp, he told himself that
he would do nothing of the sort. He would not alter a jot. They
must take him as he was, or leave him. He suffered his thoughts to
dwell for a moment upon his wealth, on the years which had gone to
the winning of it, on a certain nameless day, the memory of which
even now sent sometimes the blood running colder through his veins,
on the weaker men who had gone under that he might prosper. Now
that it was his, he wanted the best possible value for it; it was
the natural desire of the man to be uppermost in the bargain. The
delights of the world behind, it seemed to him that he had already
drained. The crushing of his rivals, the homage of his less
successful competitors, the grosser pleasures of wine, the
music-halls, and the unlimited spending of money amongst people
whom he despised had long since palled upon him.
Pages:
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84