Of such men it may be said that Satan obtains an
intermittent grasp, from which, when it is released, the rebound carries
them high amid virtuous resolutions and a thorough love of things good and
noble. Such men or women may hardly perhaps debase themselves with the
more vulgar vices. They will not be rogues, or thieves, or drunkards, or
perhaps liars; but ambition, luxury, self-indulgence, pride, and
covetousness will get a hold of them, and in various moods will be to them
virtues in lieu of vices. Such a man was Frank Greystock, who could walk
along the banks of the quiet, trout-giving Bob, at Bobsborough, whipping
the river with his rod, telling himself that the world lost for love would
be a bad thing well lost for a fine purpose; and who could also stand,
with his hands in his trousers pockets, looking down upon the pavement, in
the purlieus of the courts at Westminster, and swear to himself that he
would win the game, let the cost to his heart be what it might. What must
a man be who would allow some undefined feeling, some inward ache which he
calls a passion and cannot analyse, some desire which has come of instinct
and not of judgment, to interfere with all the projects of his intellect,
with all the work which he has laid out for his accomplishment?
Circumstances had thrown him into a path of life for which, indeed, his
means were insufficient, but which he regarded as of all paths the noblest
and the manliest.
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