"But no matter what you and I are born, we die something other."
"You mean, we progress. Perhaps so. But that we progress to any more of respect for man or for life, I have yet to learn. We progress from a moment of innocence to an hour of vanity, and from an hour of vanity to an eternity of ashes."
"You are quoting from the book."
"It is true."
"She did not believe it true. She died clinging to a crucifix."
Kimberly shrank under the surgeon's blade.
"A memory is not vanity," persisted Hamilton. "And the day some time comes when it embodies all the claim that life has upon us; but it is none the less a valid claim. In this case," the surgeon held up the book, "Italy and work proved such a claim."
"My work would be merely more money-getting. I am sickened of all money-getting. And my Italy lies to-night--up there." His eyes rolled toward the distant hill. "I wish I were there with her."
"But between the wishing and the reality, Robert--you surely would not hasten the moment yourself."
Kimberly made no answer.