... Why, this is
singular--extraordinary! There's not a history among all these
books--not a volume!"
Nicolovius's expression oddly changed; his whole face seemed to tighten.
"No," he said slowly, "I have some reason to dislike history."
The young man straightened sharply, horrified. "Why don't you say at
once that you hate Life--Man--the Evolution of the Race--and be done
with it?"
"Would that seem so dreadful to you?" The old man's face wore a sad
smile. "I might say even that, I fear. Try one of those chairs by the
fire. I shall not mind telling you how I came by this feeling. You don't
smoke, I believe! You miss a good deal, but since you don't know it, how
does it matter?"
Nicolovius's haughty aloofness, his rigid uncommunicativeness, his
grand ducal bearing and the fact that he paid eighteen dollars a week
for a suite had of course made him a man of mark and mystery in the
boarding-house, and in the romancings of Miss Miller he had figured as
nearly everything from a fugitive crown prince to a retired
counterfeiter. However, Queed positively refused to be drawn away from
the book-shelves to listen to his story, and the old professor was
compelled to turn away from the fire and to talk, at that, to the back
of the young man's head.
Pages:
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204