'I am going to take a liberty with you, Mr. De Fleuri,' he said.
'As you please, Mr. Falconer.'
'I want to tell you the only fault I have to you.'
'Yes?'
'You don't do anything for the people in the house. Whether you
believe in God or not, you ought to do what you can for your
neighbour.'
He held that to help a neighbour is the strongest antidote to
unbelief, and an open door out of the bad air of one's own troubles,
as well.
De Fleuri laughed bitterly, and rubbed his hand up and down his
empty pocket. It was a pitiable action. Falconer understood it.
'There are better things than money: sympathy, for instance. You
could talk to them a little.'
'I have no sympathy, sir.'
'You would find you had, if you would let it out.'
'I should only make them more miserable. If I believed as you do,
now, there might be some use.'
'There's that widow with her four children in the garret. The poor
little things are tormented by the rats: couldn't you nail bits of
wood over their holes?'
De Fleuri laughed again.
'Where am I to get the bits of wood, except I pull down some of
those laths. And they wouldn't keep them out a night.'
'Couldn't you ask some carpenter?'
'I won't ask a favour.'
'I shouldn't mind asking, now.'
'That's because you don't know the bitterness of needing.'
'Fortunately, however, there's no occasion for it. You have no
right to refuse for another what you wouldn't accept for yourself.
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