"Pity me, sir; pity me!" he presently cried. "Look at this lovely world,
and think what it must be to be dead to it!"
"Dead?" said Rowland.
"Dead, dead; dead and buried! Buried in an open grave, where you lie
staring up at the sailing clouds, smelling the waving flowers, and
hearing all nature live and grow above you! That 's the way I feel!"
"I am glad to hear it," said Rowland. "Death of that sort is very near
to resurrection."
"It 's too horrible," Roderick went on; "it has all come over me here
tremendously! If I were not ashamed, I could shed a bushel of tears. For
one hour of what I have been, I would give up anything I may be!"
"Never mind what you have been; be something better!"
"I shall never be anything again: it 's no use talking! But I don't know
what secret spring has been touched since I have lain here. Something
in my heart seemed suddenly to open and let in a flood of beauty and
desire. I know what I have lost, and I think it horrible! Mind you,
I know it, I feel it! Remember that hereafter. Don't say that he
was stupefied and senseless; that his perception was dulled and his
aspiration dead.
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