"Nance, you must often have been very lonely here."
She looked at him in surprise, but with a kind of compassionate radiance.
"I have been less lonely these few days, father."
He seemed to reflect upon these words. And perhaps the warm beauty of the July evening helped the quiet drifting of his thoughts.
"In this life—we make many mistakes."
She nodded as though she understood.
"I used to believe in the efficacy of violence and fear. Curious, in a man of my habits. I have come to doubt whether the quieter forces are not more powerful."
She smiled at him.
"People do hate to be driven."
"To be sure."