This is an aspect of human nature that eludes analysis, as quicksilver
eludes the pressure of the finger. The anonymous letter breeds
suspicion; suspicion begets tragedy. The greatest tragedy is not that
which kills, but that which prolongs mental agony. Honest men and
women, so we are told, pay no attention to anonymous letters. They
toss them into the waste-basket ... and brood over them in silence.
Now, Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene was always considering her duty; her duty
to the church, to society, to charity, and, upon occasions, to her
lord and master.
"Bennington's men have gone out, the fools!" said Haldene from over
the top of his paper.
"Have they?" Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene nibbled the tip of her pen. She
sighed, tore up what she had written and filtered it through her
fingers into the waste-basket.
"Yes, they've gone out. I don't know what the business world is coming
to. Why, the brick-layer gets--I don't say earns--more than the
average clerk. And Bennington's men go out simply because he refuses
to discharge that young English inventor. ... What are you writing and
tearing up so often?" he asked, his curiosity suddenly aroused.
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