It is
all conflict--all. For when conflict ceases, and those who could
and should be great spend their time chasing butterflies among the
fountains, there comes miasma and their doom. Mercy? Mercy? No, no:
for none but the poor and sick and overridden, in time of peace; in
time of war, mercy for none, pity nowhere, till the joybells ring
the great man home."
"But mercy to women always," said I, "in war or peace."
He withdrew his eyes as if from a distant prospect, and they
dropped to the stove, where I had corn parching. He nodded, as if
amused, but did not answer at once, and taking from my hand the
feather with which I stirred the corn, softly whisked some off for
himself, and smiled at the remaining kernels as they danced upon
the hot iron. After a little while he said, "Women? Women should
have all that men can give them. Beautiful things should adorn
them; no man should set his hand in cruelty on a woman--after she
is his. Before--before? Woman is wilful, and sometimes we wring
her heart that we may afterwards comfort it."
"Your views have somewhat changed," I answered.
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