"And that officially is supposed to be a revolutionist! What nonsense."
She looked hard at the Assistant Commissioner, who murmured
apologetically:
"Not a dangerous one perhaps."
"Not dangerous--I should think not indeed. He is a mere believer. It's
the temperament of a saint," declared the great lady in a firm tone. "And
they kept him shut up for twenty years. One shudders at the stupidity of
it. And now they have let him out everybody belonging to him is gone
away somewhere or dead. His parents are dead; the girl he was to marry
has died while he was in prison; he has lost the skill necessary for his
manual occupation. He told me all this himself with the sweetest
patience; but then, he said, he had had plenty of time to think out
things for himself. A pretty compensation! If that's the stuff
revolutionists are made of some of us may well go on their knees to
them," she continued in a slightly bantering voice, while the banal
society smiles hardened on the worldly faces turned towards her with
conventional deference. "The poor creature is obviously no longer in a
position to take care of himself. Somebody will have to look after him a
little."
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