You refused. I don't understand you--I never did.
There's only one thing that's alike in us, and that's a devilish self-
respect, self-assertion, self-dependence. There's nothing more to be
said between us--nothing that counts. Don't get into a passion, Carnac.
It don't become you. Good-night--good-night."
Suddenly his mother's face produced a great change in Carnac. Horror,
sorrow, remorse, were all there. He looked at John Grier; then at his
mother. The spirit of the bigger thing crept into his heart. He put his
arm around his mother and kissed her.
"Good-night, mother," he said. Then he went to his father and held out a
hand. "You don't mind my speaking what I think?" he continued, with a
smile. "I've had a lot to try me. Shake hands with me, father. We
haven't found the way to walk together yet. Perhaps it will come; I hope
so."
Again a flash of passion seized John Grier. He got to his feet. "I'll
not shake hands with you, not to night. You can't put the knife in and
turn it round, and then draw it out and put salve on the wound and say
everything's all right. Everything's all wrong. My family's been my
curse. First one, then another, and then all against me,--my whole
family against me!"
He dropped back in his chair sunk in gloomy reflection.
"Well, good-night," said Carnac.
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