Liberty he instanced as a word around which poems
have been written, "yet no poet could tell what he was writing
about; at best we can only say of liberty that we must surrender
something to gain something; in other words, liberty is a compromise,
for no one can be free to obey every impulse the moment one enters
into his being.
"Good God, Beclere! it is terrible to think one knows nothing, and
life, like the desert, is full of solitude."
Beclere did not answer, and, forgetful that it was impossible to
answer a cry of anguish, Owen began to suspect Beclere of thoughts
regarding the perfectibility of mankind, of thinking that with
patience and more perfect administration, &c. But Beclere was
thinking nothing of the kind; he was wondering what sort of reason
could have sent Owen out of England. Some desperate love affair
perhaps, his wife may have run away from him. But he did not try to
draw Owen into confidence, speaking instead of falconry and Tahar's
arrival, which could not be much longer delayed.
"After all, if you had not missed him in the desert we never should
have known each other."
"So much was gained, and if you ever come to England--" Beclere
smiled.
Pages:
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146