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hat he and I are on a level。 I wish I had stood firm—God knows I do! Dread remorse when you are tempted to err; Miss Eyre; remorse is the poison of life。”
“Repentance is said to be its cure; sir。”
“It is not its cure。 Reformation may be its cure; and I could reform—I have strength yet for that—if—but where is the use of thinking of it; hampered; burdened; cursed as I am? Besides; since happiness is irrevocably denied me; I have a right to get pleasure out of life: and I will get it; cost what it may。”
“Then you will degenerate still more; sir。”
“Possibly: yet why should I; if I can get sweet; fresh pleasure? And I may get it as sweet and fresh as the wild honey the bee gathers on the moor。”
“It will sting—it will taste bitter; sir。”
“How do you know?—you never tried it。 How very serious—how very solemn you look: and you are as ignorant of the matter as this cameo head” (taking one from the mantelpiece)。 “You have no right to preach to me; you neophyte; that have not passed the porch of life; and are absolutely unacquainted with its mysteries。”
“I only remind you of your own words; sir: you said error brought remorse; and you pronounced remorse the poison of existence。”
“And who talks of error now? I scarcely think the notion that flittered across my brain was an error。 I believe it was an inspiration rather than a temptation: it was very genial; very soothing—I know that。 Here it es again! It is no devil; I assure you; o
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