"Suppose him resolved to make the best of a bad bargain."
"Why, the effect ought to be good, I suppose,—so the preachers say."
"I do not wish to know what the preachers say. I wish your own opinion."
"Are you quite in earnest?"
"Quite."
"Such suffering, rightly taken, would strip life of its disguises, and show it in its naked truth. It would teach the man to know himself and to know others. It would awaken his sympathies, enlarge his mind, and greatly expand his sphere of vision; teach him to hold present pleasure and present pain in small account, and to look beyond them into a future of boundless hopes and fears."
"Now," said Morton, "you have betrayed yourself."
"How have I betrayed myself?" asked his friend, in some discomposure.
"You have shown me the secrets of your own mind. You have given me a glimpse of your own history, since we last met."
"And so, under pretence of confessing to me, you have been plotting to make me confess to you!"