Fan : The Story of a Young Girl's LifeHudson, W. H. (William Henry)
General
Fan : The Story of a Young Girl's Life
Hudson, W. H. (William Henry)
Fiction
to appearances; but if she is what she looks no harm will come to her.
If she is like other girls of her class, not too pure and good for human
nature's daily food, then the result might be--not at all unpleasant....
Women, pretty girls even, are very cheap in England--a drug in the
market, as any young man not positively a gorilla of ugliness must know.
It rather saddens me to think what I could do, without being a King
Solomon. But for this young girl who is not clever, and lodges in
Charlotte Street, and goes every day to her shop, I think I could make
a fool of myself. And make her happy perhaps. She should have not only
a shelter from the storm and the tempest, but everything her heart could
desire.... And if the opportunity offers, why should I not make
her happy in the way she might like? Is it bad to wish to possess a
beautiful girl? I fancy I have that part of my nature by inheritance.
My amiable progenitor was, in this respect, something of a rascal, as
someone says of the pious Æneas. Only at last he became religious, and
repented of all his sins: the devil was sick, the devil a saint would
be.... After all, if we are powerless to shape our own destinies, if
what is to be will be, how idle to discuss such a question, to array
conscience and inclination against one another, like two sets of wooden
marionettes made to advance and retire by pulling at the strings! This
battle in the brain, which may be fought out till not an opponent is
left alive on one side, all in the course of half an hour, is only a
mock battle--a mere farce. The real battle will be a bigger affair
and last much longer, and a whole galaxy of gods will be looking down
assisting now this side and now that--Chance, Time, Circumstance, and
others too numerous to mention. This, then, is my conclusion--I am in
the hands of destiny: _che sara sara_.”
When Merton, after bidding good-night to his guests at the street-door,
returned to the sitting-room where he had left his wife he did not find
her there; in the bedroom he discovered her with tear-stains on her
face.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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