But the
explanation would be necessary, and all his pride would rebel against
it. On that night when by chance he had come across his brother,
bleeding and still half drunk, as he was about to enter his lodging, how
completely under his thumb he had been! And now he was offering him of
his bounty this wretched pittance! Then with half-muttered curses he
execrated the names of his father, his brother, of Grey, and of Barry,
and of his own lawyer.
At that moment the door was opened and his bosom friend, Septimus Jones,
entered the room. At any rate this friend was the nearest he had to his
bosom. He was a man without friends in the true sense. There was no one
who knew the innermost wishes of his heart, the secret desires of his
soul. There are thus so many who can divulge to none those secret
wishes! And how can such a one have a friend who can advise him as to
what he shall do? Scarcely can the honest man have such a friend,
because it is so difficult for him to find a man who will believe in
him. Augustus had no desire for such a friend, but he did desire some
one who would do his bidding as though he were such a friend. He wanted
a friend who would listen to his words, and act as though they were the
truth.
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