Of course he had no acquaintance with the class of persons of
whom Mrs. Weare was thinking. In a sense, all the families round about were
poor, but--he asked himself--had poverty the same meaning for them as for
him? Was there a man or woman in this grimy street who, compared with
himself, had any right to be called poor at all? An educated man forced to
live among the lower classes arrives at many interesting conclusions with
regard to them; one conclusion long since fixed in Mr. Tymperley's mind was
that the 'suffering' of those classes is very much exaggerated by outsiders
using a criterion quite inapplicable. He saw around him a world of coarse
jollity, of contented labour, and of brutal apathy. It seemed to him more
than probable that the only person in this street conscious of poverty, and
suffering under it, was himself.
From nightmarish dozing, he started with a vivid thought, a recollection
which seemed to pierce his brain. To whom did he owe his fall from comfort
and self-respect, and all his long miseries? To Mrs. Weare's father. And,
from this point of view, might the cheque for five pounds be considered as
mere restitution? Might it not strictly be applicable to his own
necessities?
Another little gap of semi-consciousness led to another strange reflection.
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