"Good morning," said he, smiling, as he saw her. "Come in. I want
to talk to you. But please don't resume our old argument about the
compromise, and about slavery and the rights of man. You've been
trying--all these weeks when I've been down and helpless and
couldn't either fight or run away--to make me be a Bentonite, or
worse, an abolitionist--trying, haven't you? to make me an
apostate, faithless to my state, my beliefs, my traditions--and I
suppose you'd be shrewd enough to add, faithless to my material
interests. Please don't, this morning. I don't want subjective
thought. I don't want algebra. I don't want history or law, or
medicine. I want--"
She stood near the window, at some distance removed from him, even
as she passed stopping to tidy Up a disarranged article on the
tables here or there. He smiled again at this. "Where is Sally?"
he asked. "And how about your maid?"
"Some one must do these things," she answered. "Your servants need
watching.
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