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           "Youcan’t,Tom,"arguedAmory,astheyrolledalongthroughthescatteringnight;"whereveryougonowyou’llalwaysunconsciouslyapplythesestandardsof’havingit’or’lackingit.’Forbetterorworsewe’vestampedyou;you’reaPrincetontype!"

           "Well,then,"complainedTom,hiscrackedvoicerisingplaintively,"whydoIhavetocomebackatall?I’velearnedallthatPrincetonhastooffer.Twoyearsmoreofmerepedantryandlyingaroundaclubaren’tgoingtohelp.They’rejustgoingtodisorganizeme,conventionalizemecompletely.EvennowI’msospinelessthatIwonderhowIgetawaywithit."

           "Oh,butyou’remissingtherealpoint,Tom,"Amoryinterrupted."You’vejusthadyoureyesopenedtothesnobbishnessoftheworldinaratherabruptmanner.Princetoninvariablygivesthethoughtfulmanasocialsense."

           "Youconsideryoutaughtmethat,don’tyou?"heaskedquizzically,eyingAmoryinthehalfdark.

           Amorylaughedquietly.

           "Didn’tI?"

           "Sometimes,"hesaidslowly,"Ithinkyou’remybadangel.Imighthavebeenaprettyfairpoet."

           "Comeon,that’sratherhard.YouchosetocometoanEasterncollege.Eitheryoureyeswereopenedtothemeanscramblingqualityofpeople,oryou’dhavegonethroughblind,andyou’dhatetohavedonethat—beenlikeMartyKaye."

           "Yes,"heagreed,"you’reright.Iwouldn’thavelikedit.Still,it’shardtobemadeacynicattwenty."

           "Iwasbornone,"Amorymurmured."I’macynicalidealist.