But you can't, don't think it! The sooner you give up
the idea the better for you. Give up being proud of me, too; there
's nothing left of me to be proud of! A year ago I was a mighty fine
fellow; but do you know what has become of me now? I have gone to the
devil!"
There was something in the ring of Roderick's voice, as he uttered these
words, which sent them home with convincing force. He was not talking
for effect, or the mere sensuous pleasure of extravagant and paradoxical
utterance, as had often enough been the case ere this; he was not
even talking viciously or ill-humoredly. He was talking passionately,
desperately, and from an irresistible need to throw off the oppressive
burden of his mother's confidence. His cruel eloquence brought the poor
lady to her feet, and she stood there with clasped hands, petrified
and voiceless. Mary Garland quickly left her place, came straight to
Roderick, and laid her hand on his arm, looking at him with all her
tormented heart in her eyes. He made no movement to disengage himself;
he simply shook his head several times, in dogged negation of her
healing powers.
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