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Chapter 19

           Don’tinterruptme,heseemedtobesaying,don’tsayanything;justsitthere.Andhewentonreading.Hislipstwitched.Itfilledhim.Itfortifiedhim.Hecleanforgotallthelittlerubsanddigsoftheevening,andhowitboredhimunutterablytositstillwhilepeopleateanddrankinterminably,andhisbeingsoirritablewithhiswifeandsotouchyandmindingwhentheypassedhisbooksoverasiftheydidn’texistatall.Butnow,hefelt,itdidn’tmatteradamnwhoreachedZ(ifthoughtranlikeanalphabetfromAtoZ).Somebodywouldreachitifnothe,thenanother.Thisman’sstrengthandsanity,hisfeelingforstraightforwardsimplethings,thesefishermen,thepooroldcrazedcreatureinMucklebackit’scottagemadehimfeelsovigorous,sorelievedofsomethingthathefeltrousedandtriumphantandcouldnotchokebackhistears.Raisingthebookalittletohidehisface,heletthemfallandshookhisheadfromsidetosideandforgothimselfcompletely(butnotoneortworeflectionsaboutmoralityandFrenchnovelsandEnglishnovelsandScott’shandsbeingtiedbuthisviewperhapsbeingastrueastheotherview),forgothisownbothersandfailurescompletelyinpoorSteenie’sdrowningandMucklebackit’ssorrow(thatwasScottathisbest)andtheastonishingdelightandfeelingofvigourthatitgavehim.

           Well,letthemimproveuponthat,hethoughtashefinishedthechapter.Hefeltthathehadbeenarguingwithsomebody,andhadgotthebetterofhim.

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