“That’s the way it strikes me.”
“But, good Heavens! man, think of what—of what I am!”
His gaze was fixed on the stretch of road ahead of him.
“What’s that got to do with it? It wouldn’t make any difference to me if you were a murderer or a thief.”
“How do you know I’m not?” I couldn’t help asking.
“I don’t know that you’re not; but I say it wouldn’t make any difference to me if you were.”
The word I am tempted to use of myself at this unexpected offer of good-will is flabbergasted. I am not emotional; still less am I sentimental; both in sentiment and emotion my tendency is to go slow.
After a brief silence I said: “Look here! Do you go round making friends among the riffraff of mankind?”
“I don’t go round making friends among people of any sort. I’m not the friendly type. I know lots of people, of course; but—but I don’t get beyond just knowing them.”