"He has a grandmother there, you know--Mrs. Theobald."
"He has a grandmother here. No, he is troublesome, but
I must have him with me. I will not even have my father and
mother too. For they would separate us," he added.
"How?"
"They would separate our thoughts."
She was silent. This cruel, vicious fellow knew of
strange refinements. The horrible truth, that wicked people
are capable of love, stood naked before her, and her moral
being was abashed. It was her duty to rescue the baby, to
save it from contagion, and she still meant to do her duty.
But the comfortable sense of virtue left her. She was in
the presence of something greater than right or wrong.
Forgetting that this was an interview, he had strolled
back into the room, driven by the instinct she had aroused
in him. "Wake up!" he cried to his baby, as if it was some
grown-up friend. Then he lifted his foot and trod lightly
on its stomach.
Miss Abbott cried, "Oh, take care!" She was
unaccustomed to this method of awakening the young.
"He is not much longer than my boot, is he? Can you
believe that in time his own boots will be as large? And
that he also--"
"But ought you to treat him like that?"
He stood with one foot resting on the little body,
suddenly musing, filled with the desire that his son should
be like him, and should have sons like him, to people the
earth. It is the strongest desire that can come to a man--if
it comes to him at all--stronger even than love or the desire
for personal immortality.
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