But thank God, it is by the few,
but fast increasing exceptions, that she knew what the rest were doing!
But perhaps he meant only the wicked when he used the word.
"What do you mean by the human rubbish, Mr. Vavasor?" she asked.
He saw he must be careful, and would fence a little.
"Don't you think," he said slowly, and measuring his words, "that in the
body politic there is something analogous to the waste in matter?"
"Certainly," she answered, "only we might differ as to the persons who
were to be classed in it. I think we should be careful of our judgment
as to when that state has been reached. I fancy that is just the one
thing the human faculty is least able to cope with. None but God can
read in a man what he really is. It can't be a safe thing to call human
beings, our own kith and kin, born into the same world with us, and
under the same laws of existence, _rubbish_."
"I see what you mean," said Vavasor to Hester. But to himself said,
"Good heavens!"
"You see," Hester went on--they were walking in the dark dusk, she
before him in a narrow path among the trees, whence she was able both to
think and speak more freely than if they had been looking in each
other's face in the broad daylight--"you see, rubbish with life in it is
an awkward thing to deal with.
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