At any rate, after studying his face for a while, I called Jephson
out from my bedroom and told him that I had changed my mind: we would
sail, after all, and he might start re-packing at once. Jephson
fairly beamed.
"But there's one thing I'd like to say," put in Farrell, while it was
obvious that this order overwhelmed him with joy. "I want to have it
clear between us that, joyful as I am at your acceptance, and
grateful as I am for your seeing things in this light, it doesn't in
any way compromise my dealing with Foe."
"If you take my advice," said I, "you'll drop Foe, and all this silly
business of hatred. He has tried it on you, and up to a certain
point it answered. You played him--I'll grant you, unknowingly--a
perfectly damnable trick. Don't smear your soul with any flattering
unction, Mr. Farrell. You wrecked his life; and, in return, he set
himself to wreck yours. Up to that point I can understand, though it
all seems to me infernally silly. But in his monomania he went just
that step too far, and has exchanged thereby the upper hand.
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