As some, like my cousin Percy, for
instance are born with a passion for the sea, and some with a passion
for forests, some with a passion for mountains, and some with a
passion for rolling plains. The landscape amid which I was born had,
no doubt, a charm for me, and could bring to me that nature-ecstacy
which I inherited from Fenella Stanley. But with Wales I actually
fell in love the moment I set foot in the country. This is why I am
hurrying there now.'
And I laughed at myself, and evidently frightened the old lady very
much. She did not know that underneath the soul's direst
struggle--the struggle of personality with the tyranny of the
ancestral blood--there is an awful sense of humour--a laughter
(unconquerable, and yet intolerable) at the deepest of all
incongruities, the incongruity of Fate's game with man. I apologised
to her, and told her that I had been absorbed in reading a droll
story, in which a man believed that the Angel of Memory had
refashioned for him his dead wife out of his own sorrow and
unquenchable fountain of tears.
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