Wyvern admitted. 'Had he
been a younger man, or if his writing had been of a different kind.
Yet his sincerity is beyond doubt.'
'I doubt it,' Hubert broke in. 'Not his sincerity in the beginning;
but he must long since have ached to free himself. It is such a
common thing for a man to commit himself to some pronounced position
in public life and for very shame shrink from withdrawing. He would
not realise what it meant. Now in the revolutionary societies of the
Continent there is something that appeals to the imagination. A
Nihilist, with Siberia or death before him, fighting against a
damnable tyranny--the best might sacrifice everything for that. But
English Socialism! It is infused with the spirit of shopkeeping; it
appeals to the vulgarest minds; it keeps one eye on personal safety,
the other on the capitalist's strong-box; it is stamped commonplace,
like everything originating with the English lower classes. How does
it differ from Radicalism, the most contemptible claptrap of
politics, except in wanting to hurry a little the rule of the mob?
Well, I am too subjective. Help me, if you can, to understand
Westlake.'
Hubert was pale and sorrow-stricken; his movements were heavy with
weariness, but he had all at once begun to speak with the old fire,
the old scorn.
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