The Philosopher stared curiously at me. It was, I admit, a strange speech for me to make to him, but I had not been thinking of him. I had been thinking of Lad, my big boy, now away at school, and of the day when he should reach this experience for himself, and I should have to give him up—my one near tie. I should surely feel adrift in that day—far adrift.
"Does it seem to you like that?" he asked, very gently, after a minute.
I looked up, and saw a new and quite strange expression in his kindly eyes. "No, no," I said hastily. "How could it—with so many and such good friends?"
I think he would have questioned me further, but the Skeptic at that moment turned my way, and I laid hold upon him—figuratively speaking—and did not let go again till all danger of a discussion with the Philosopher on the subject of my loneliness was past.
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[VI]
[WISTARIA—AND THE PHILOSOPHER]
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Friendship needs delicate handling. —Hugh Black. |