“I haven’t asked for a thing—except for you to see me.”
“That’s all. Just that I make myself responsible for whatever might happen to you.
If, as you planned, I get tired and discouraged and perplexed and cannot resist your blandishments—then I’ll owe a debt to that. And if your family finds out you are seeing me and really puts in effect any such fantastic business as you describe—I’ll owe for that.
You will have suffered on account of me and I will have been a party to it. I don’t belong to myself. I belong to a fight for a hope. So—I’ve nothing to offer you. Nothing.”
“What hope? You didn’t say anything about your hopes.”
“No. And I won’t. They’re vague, so far. I fight because I am too proud to surrender without fighting. Any hope I have can express itself after the fight is won—if it ever is.”
“Why not begin hoping now, specifically? That will be something to help you fight, won’t it?”
“Pride’s enough. It’s all we had left—and there wasn’t much of that. I don’t mean vanity. I mean, I was proud to be a free man, proud that my ancestors and I wouldn’t accept any Hiders. Hiders are the easy way out, the expedient way, the lazy solution. But they never do lead out.”
“If you were just a bunch of ideas I wouldn’t have driven you here. You’ve got feelings, besides.”
“Yeah. I’m thinking of that.”