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Chapter 7

           Ifeelmostkeenly——"

           "Whatdoyoufeel?"heinquired,fixinghiseyessteadilyuponme—"Therearehundredsofstarvingwretchesinthismetropolis—menandwomenonthebrinkofsuicidebecausetheyhavenohopeofanythinginthisworldorthenext,andnosympathyfromtheirkind—doyoufeelforthem?Dotheirgriefsaffectyou?Youknowtheydonot—youknowyouneverthinkofthem—whyshouldyou?Oneofthechiefadvantagesofwealthistheabilityitgivesustoshutoutotherpeople’smiseriesfromourpersonalconsideration."

           Isaidnothing—forthefirsttimemyspiritchafedatthetruthofhiswords,principallybecausetheyweretrue.Alas,Lucio!—ifIhadonlyknownthenwhatIknownow!

           "Yesterday,"hewentoninthesamequietvoice—"achildwasrunoverhere,justoppositethishotel.Itwasonlyapoorchild—markthat‘only.’Itsmotherranshriekingoutofsomeback-streethardby,intimetoseethelittlebleedingbodycartedupinamangledheap.Shestruckwildlywithbothhandsatthemenwhoweretryingtoleadheraway,andwithacrylikethatofsomehurtsavageanimalfellfaceforwardinthemud—dead.Shewasonlyapoorwoman—another‘only.’Therewerethreelinesinthepaperaboutitheaded‘SadIncident.’

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