What it meant, what
torture and raptures had gone to its construction, what slow,
overmastering fate had lurked within the facts, very naked, sometimes
sordid, but generally spicy, presented to his gaze. He was not in the
habit of blaming, praising, drawing deductions, or generalizing at all
about such things; he simply listened rather greedily, and repeated what
he was told, finding considerable benefit from the practice, as from the
consumption of a sherry and bitters before a meal.
Now, however, that such a thing--or rather the rumour, the breath of
it--had come near him personally, he felt as in a fog, which filled
his mouth full of a bad, thick flavour, and made it difficult to draw
breath.
A scandal! A possible scandal!
To repeat this word to himself thus was the only way in which he could
focus or make it thinkable. He had forgotten the sensations necessary
for understanding the progress, fate, or meaning of any such business;
he simply could no longer grasp the possibilities of people running any
risk for the sake of passion.
Amongst all those persons of his acquaintance, who went into the City
day after day and did their business there, whatever it was, and in
their leisure moments bought shares, and houses, and ate dinners, and
played games, as he was told, it would have seemed to him ridiculous to
suppose that there were any who would run risks for the sake of anything
so recondite, so figurative, as passion.
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