While progress advances, it really looks as if humanity were reverting
to its types, with an honest effort at simplicity. There is a revival
of the moral individuality of the middle ages. The despot proudly
says, like Alexander, or Montrose in love, that he will reign, and he
will reign alone; and he does. The financier plunders mankind and does
not pretend that he is a long-lost type of philanthropist. The
anarchist proclaims that it is virtuous to kill kings, and he kills
them. The wicked do not even make a pretence of going to church on
Sundays. If this goes on, we shall have saints before long.
Hypocrisy has disappeared even from literature, since no one who now
writes books fit to read can be supposed to do so out of respect for
public opinion, still less from any such base motive as a desire for
gain.
Malipieri and Sabina both felt that they had been drawn much nearer
together by what had sounded like idle chatter, and yet neither of
them was inclined to continue talking in the same way. Moreover time
was passing quickly, and there was a matter to be decided before they
parted. Malipieri returned to the subject of his discovery, and his
desire that Sabina should see it.
"But I cannot possibly come to the palace alone," she objected. "It is
quite out of the question. Even if--" she stopped.
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