He had received from his son an unpractical letter, in which by rambling
generalities the boy seemed trying to get out of answering a plain
question. 'I've seen Bosinney,' he said; 'he is not a criminal. The
more I see of people the more I am convinced that they are never good or
bad--merely comic, or pathetic. You probably don't agree with me!'
Old Jolyon did not; he considered it cynical to so express oneself; he
had not yet reached that point of old age when even Forsytes, bereft of
those illusions and principles which they have cherished carefully
for practical purposes but never believed in, bereft of all corporeal
enjoyment, stricken to the very heart by having nothing left to hope
for--break through the barriers of reserve and say things they would
never have believed themselves capable of saying.
Perhaps he did not believe in 'goodness' and 'badness' any more than
his son; but as he would have said: He didn't know--couldn't tell;
there might be something in it; and why, by an unnecessary expression of
disbelief, deprive yourself of possible advantage?
Accustomed to spend his holidays among the mountains, though (like a
true Forsyte) he had never attempted anything too adventurous or too
foolhardy, he had been passionately fond of them.
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