See what this fellow has
been at, patching away, striving to create beauty on the shell of
things. He is like McGregor you see. I wonder if the man has made
himself beautiful, if either he or McGregor has seen to it that there
is something lovely inside the husk he wears around and that he calls
his body, if he has seen through life to the spirit of life. I do not
believe in patching nor do I believe in disturbing the shell of things
as McGregor has dared to do. I have my own beliefs and they are the
beliefs of my kind. This man here, this maker of little gardens, is
like McGregor. He might better let men find their own beauty. That is
my way. I have, I want to think, kept myself for the sweeter and more
daring effort."
David turned and looked hard at Margaret who had begun to be
influenced by his mood. She waited, looking with averted face at the
sky over the roofs of buildings. David began to talk of himself in
relation to her and her mother. A note of impatience came into his
voice.
"How far you have been carried away, haven't you?" he said sharply.
"Listen. I am not talking to you now as your father nor as Laura's
daughter. Let us be clear about that I love you and am in a contest to
win your love. I am McGregor's rival. I accept the handicap of
fatherhood.
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