“The two were peculiarly alike as they sat looking at one another. Frank was in bed, sitting up clasping his knees, and his father leant back in the chair by the fire. It had been a long and difficult conversation, but one carried on with surprisingly little passion once the first outburst had died away. The boy was white, and his eyes were dark saucers, while Castor himself was more unaffected and sincere than he had ever been in his life. “You see,” he said, emphasizing the point he had made b...efore, “there is nothing to it but that. It would be a folly out of all reason to spoil your life for it. There is nothing to it but that, nothing whatever.” The boy opened his mouth to speak, swallowed, and put his head down. “It is difficult to believe that, sir,” he said at last. “Is it?” Castor was staring at him fiercely. “Is it? Do you honestly find it difficult to believe that now?” It was an unfair question. There had been dreadful moments for Frank during the hours he had spent with Lizzie; moments of hair-raising embarrassment and erratic revulsion, moments when he had hated himself, but never her.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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