"Moderately so."
"Important to whom?"
"To myself, I should think, if to no one else."
"And your creditor—the world?"
That was the last straw. "The world, oh, yes, the world. And what, pray, do I owe it?"
"Love."
"Love? To that harlot? Because it sucked the fire from my veins and poured poison therein instead? Behold me here—wrecked, broken, a plaything of any wave. That is what the world has made of me!"
"That is what you have made of yourself! … The world came to you as a smiling guide…. With gentle finger it touched your shoulder and desired you to follow. But you were stubborn. You went your own way in dark and lonely caverns where the laughing music of the fight that sounds from above becomes a discordant thunder. You were meant to be wise and merry; you became dull and morose."
"Very well; if that is what I became, at least the grave will release me from my condition."
"Test yourself thoroughly."