"I always did hate those
people," he said, "and they always have hated and always will hate me. I
am an Ishmael by instinct as much as by accident of circumstances, but if
I keep out of society I shall be less vulnerable than Ishmaels generally
are. The moment a man goes into society, he becomes vulnerable all
round."
I was very sorry to hear him talk in this way; for whatever strength a
man may have he should surely be able to make more of it if he act in
concert than alone. I said this.
"I don't care," he answered, "whether I make the most of my strength or
not; I don't know whether I have any strength, but if I have I dare say
it will find some way of exerting itself. I will live as I like living,
not as other people would like me to live; thanks to my aunt and you I
can afford the luxury of a quiet unobtrusive life of self-indulgence,"
said he laughing, "and I mean to have it. You know I like writing," he
added after a pause of some minutes, "I have been a scribbler for years.
If I am to come to the fore at all it must be by writing."
I had already long since come to that conclusion myself.
"Well," he continued, "there are a lot of things that want saying which
no one dares to say, a lot of shams which want attacking, and yet no one
attacks them.
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