And yet, did he quite deserve it?
Was there no grain of leaven in his lump of sinfulness and weakness, if
all were known? He is a hardened criminal, indeed, who can find no hope
in the thought of appealing from human judgment to Divine!
Meanwhile, Mr. Reynolds had been luxuriating in a very unmistakable
sense of injury. To some persons there are a positive relief and
gratification in being really wronged: it raises their estimate of their
own importance: by virtue of their title to feel angry, disappointed, or
deceived, they can take their place in a higher than their ordinary
rank. So Mr. Reynolds, finding himself qualified to plead a clear case
of absolute and unwarrantable desertion, held up his head, and bore
himself with becoming dignity.
His dignity did not, however, interfere with his seeking to drown his
slight in the good, old-fashioned way. He solaced himself beyond
prudence with the varied products of the hotel bar, and then settled
himself solitary in his sleigh and jingled homeward. His road took him
past the Parsonage, and he enlivened the lonely way by scraps of songs,
reflections upon the perfidy of women, and portentous yawns at intervals
of two or three minutes. In fact, by the time he had gone a mile the
most predominant sensation he had was sleepiness, and half a mile more
came very near making a second Endymion of him.
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