Henry James

Summary

Henry James A Passionate Pilgrim — IV (1871)

What do I look as if I knew about Oxford, sir?"
"Mercy on us," cried Searle, "why didn't you speak to us before?"
"I wanted to; half a dozen times I've been on the point of it. I knew you were Americans."
"And Americans are rich!" cried Searle, laughing. "My dear Mr. Rawson, American as I am I'm living on charity."
"And I'm exactly not, sir! There it is. I'm dying for the lack of that same. You say you're a pauper, but it takes an American pauper to go bowling about in a Bath-chair. America's an easy country."
Source: Wikisource

Henry James A Passionate Pilgrim — IV (1871)

And he wiped his eyes with what seemed his sole remnant of linen.
"Dear, dear," sighed Searle, "I've made you cry! Well, we speak as from man to man. I should be glad to think you had felt for a moment the side-light of that great undarkening of the spirit which precedes--which precedes the grand illumination of death."
Mr. Rawson sat silent a little, his eyes fixed on the ground and his well-cut nose but the more deeply dyed by his agitation. Then at last looking up: "You're a very good-natured man, sir, and you'll never persuade me you don't come of a kindly race.
Source: Wikisource

Henry James A Passionate Pilgrim — IV (1871)

We entered the low monkish doorway and stood in the dim little court that nestles beneath the tower, where the swallows niche more lovingly in the tangled ivy than elsewhere in Oxford, and passed into the quiet cloister and studied the small sculptured monsters on the entablature of the arcade. I rejoiced in every one of my unhappy friend's responsive vibrations, even while feeling that they might as direfully multiply as those that had preceded them.
Source: Wikisource

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