Many men and
women have loved, and have meant to help each other all their lives; and
with the years have drifted asunder; coming even to be against one
another. We change and our thoughts change; slight differences of
temperament grow into barriers between us; unguessed antagonisms widen
into gulfs. Accidents come into our lives. A friend was telling me the
other day of a woman who practically proposed to and married a musical
genius, purely and solely to be of use to him. She earned quite a big
income, drawing fashions; and her idea was to relieve him of the
necessity of doing pot-boilers for a living, so that he might devote his
whole time to his real work. And a few weeks after they were married she
ran the point of a lead pencil through her eye and it set up inflammation
of her brain. And now all the poor fellow has to think of is how to make
enough to pay for her keep at a private lunatic asylum. I don't mean to
be flippant. It's the very absurdity of it all that makes the mystery of
life--that renders it so hopeless for us to attempt to find our way
through it by our own judgment.
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