That would be because you are thinking of the effect on yourself. As
it's my dog that has done it--dear me, they do look squashed now he has
got up--you don't really mind about your father's vexation, because you
won't have to think about yourself. That is wise of you; if you were a
little wiser still, you would picture to yourself how ridiculous I shall
look apologising for Og. Kindly kick him, Michael; he will understand.
Naughty! And as for your not having any friends, that would be
exceedingly sad, if you had gone the right way to get them and failed.
But you haven't. You haven't even gone among the people who could be
your friends. Your friends, broadly speaking, must like the same sort of
things as you. There must be a common basis. You can't even argue with
somebody, or disagree with somebody unless you have a common ground to
start from. If I say that black is white, and you think it is blue, we
can't get on. It leads nowhere. And, finally--"
She turned round and faced him directly.
"Finally, don't be so cross, my dear," she said.
"But am I?" asked he.
"Yes. You don't know it, or else probably, since you are a very decent
fellow, you wouldn't be. You expect not to be liked, and that is cross
of you.
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