Somewhere in his mind a conversation began, rather resumed its place in his attention.
It was composed not of two voices, but of one, which acted alike as questioner and answerer:
Question.—Well—what’s the situation?
Answer.—That I have about twenty-four dollars to my name.
Q.—You have the Lake Geneva estate.
A.—But I intend to keep it.
Q.—Can you live?
A.—I can’t imagine not being able to.
People make money in books and I’ve found that I can always do the things that people do in books.
Really they are the only things I can do.
Q.—Be definite.
A.—I don’t know what I’ll do—nor have I much curiosity Tomorrow I’m going to leave New York for good.
It’s a bad town unless you’re on top of it.
Q.—Do you want a lot of money?
A.—No. I am merely afraid of being poor.
Q.—Very afraid?
A.—Just passively afraid.
Q.—Where are you drifting?
A.—Don’t ask me!
Q.—Don’t you care?
A.—Rather.
I don’t want to commit moral suicide.
Q.—Have you no interests left?
A.-None.
I’ve no more virtue to lose.
Just as a cooling pot gives off heat, so all through youth and adolescence we give off calories of virtue.
That’s what’s called ingenuousness.
Q.—An interesting idea.
A.—That’s why a “good man going wrong” attracts people.
They stand around and literally warm themselves at the calories of virtue he gives off.
Sarah makes an unsophisticated remark and the faces simper in delight—“How innocent the poor child is!” They’re warming themselves at her virtue.
But Sarah sees the simper and never makes that remark again.
Only she feels a little colder after that.
Q.—All your calories gone?
A.—All of them.
I’m beginning to warm myself at other people’s virtue.
Q.—Are you corrupt?
A.—I think so.
I’m not sure.
I’m not sure about good and evil at all any more.
Q.—Is that a bad sign in itself?
A.—Not necessarily.
Q.—What would be the test of corruption?
A.—Becoming really insincere—calling myself “not such a bad fellow,” thinking I regretted my lost youth when I only envy the delights of losing it.
Youth is like having a big plate of candy.
Sentimentalists think they want to be in the pure, simple state they were in before they ate the candy.
They don’t.
They just want the fun of eating it all over again.
The matron doesn’t want to repeat her girlhood—she wants to repeat her honeymoon.
I don’t want to repeat my innocence.