"Thanks, Corson, thanks. You have come nearer to stirring this dead heart of mine than any one since—well, no matter. I reciprocate your feeling. I shall have a hard time of it after you have gone."
"Then join me."
"It is impossible."
"But why? This life will destroy you sooner or later."
"Oh—that's been done already."
"No, it hasn't. There are more noble things in you than you realize. What you need is to give them scope and let them out."
"You don't know me. What you see is all on the surface. If I ever had any power of decision or action it has gone. I am the victim, and not the master of my destiny. I am drifting along like a derelict, with no compass to guide, rudder to steer or anchor to grip the bottom."
"Make another effort, old man, do! Look at me. I was in as bad a fix as you are only a little while ago."
"Yes; but see what has happened to you! Circumstances have tumbled you out of the nest, and of course you had to fly. I wish something would happen to me! I would almost be glad to have lightning strike me."
"What you say is true in a way, of course. I know I don't deserve any credit for breaking out of this life. But don't you think a man can do it alone, without any such frightful catastrophes to help him? It seems to me, now, that I could. I feel as if I could burst through stone walls."