Some idea of this sort was
in Arthur's mind as he sped along towards the Sound steamer. He could
not prevent himself from thinking more or less of the situation of his
affairs, but he made no attempt to consider them reasonably or in
order.
"It would have saved me an awkward interview," he reflected, "if Mrs.
Glendower could have taken herself opportunely out of the world. If we
may trust the usual form of mortuary resolutions, Divine Providence is
habitually pleased with the removal of mortals from this sublunary
sphere; and in this case I should share the sentiment."
His musings took on a darker tone as time went on. He thought with
bitterness of the failure of his past, and he loathed himself for what
he was. The hateful mystery of life tormented him with its poisonous
uncertainty. He groaned inwardly at the curse that one day should still
follow another. Then the phrasing of his thought pleased him, and with
veering fancy he went on stringing epigrams in his brain.
"After all," he thought, "what we call a fool in this world is a man
who has his own way at the expense of the wise. There's Candish, now; I
call him a fool and he goes ahead and is damned virtuous and stupid and
exasperating, and gets through life beautifully; while I, who wouldn't
be such an idiot for any money, am always in some confounded scrape or
other.
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