"
"I don't agree with you," said the author of "A Shave-tail in France."
"I used to listen to you and Maury when we were young, and I used to be
impressed because you were so consistently cynical, but now--well, after
all, by God, which of us three has taken to the--to the intellectual
life? I don't want to sound vainglorious, but--it's me, and I've always
believed that moral values existed, and I always will."
"Well," objected Anthony, who was rather enjoying himself, "even
granting that, you know that in practice life never presents problems as
clear cut, does it?"
"It does to me. There's nothing I'd violate certain principles for."
"But how do you know when you're violating them? You have to guess at
things just like most people do. You have to apportion the values when
you look back. You finish up the portrait then--paint in the details
and shadows."
Dick shook his head with a lofty stubbornness. "Same old futile cynic,"
he said. "It's just a mode of being sorry for yourself. You don't do
anything--so nothing matters."
"Oh, I'm quite capable of self-pity," admitted Anthony, "nor am I
claiming that I'm getting as much fun out of life as you are.
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