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“Cruel? Do you mean to the hunchback?” “I mean—Of course the man himself was quite indifferent; no doubt, it is to him just a way of getting a living, like the circus-rider’s way or the columbine’s. But the thing makes one feel unhappy. It is humiliating; it is the degradation of a human being.” “He probably is not any more degraded than he was to start with. Most of us are degraded in one way or another.”

“We are returning to the old subject; and this was to be a business talk. It is quite useless, I assure you, to tell me I might have done all sorts of things. I shall never do them now. But I may be able to help you in thinking out your plan. What is it?” “You begin by telling me that it is useless for me to suggest anything, and then ask what I want to suggest. My plan requires your help in action, not only in thinking out.”

“I have not been much in the Romagna, but what little I have seen of the people has given me the impression that they have got, or are getting, into a mechanical habit of violence." "Surely even that is better than a mechanical habit of obedience and submission.” “I don’t think so. All mechanical habits are bad and slavish, and this one is ferocious as well.”

“The portrait is faded, and a child’s face is always hard to read. But I should think that child would grow into unlucky man, and the wisest thing he could do would be to abstain from growing into a man at all.” “Why?” “Look at the line of the underlip. Th-th-that is the sort of nature that feels pain as pain and wrong as wrong; and the world has no r-r-room for such people; it needs people who feel nothing but their work,”

“Tell me,” she interrupted, “are you quite sure that these friends of yours can be trusted?” “Quite sure. I know them personally, and have worked with them.” ”That is, they are members of the sect to which you belong? Forgive my scepticism, but I am always a little doubtful as to the accuracy of information received from secret societies. It seems to me that the habit⁠—” "Who told you I belonged to a 'sect'?" he interrupted sharply. “No one; I guessed it." "Ah!" He leaned back in his chair and looked at her, frowning. “Do you always guess people's private affairs?” he said after a moment. “Very often. I am rather observant, and have a habit of putting things together. I tell you that so that you may be careful when you don't want me to know a thing.”

“I think we differ as to where the root of the mischief lies. You place it in a lack of appreciation of the value of human life.” “Rather of the sacredness of human personality.” “Put it as you like. To me the great cause of our muddles and mistakes seems to lie in the mental disease called religion.” “Do you mean any religion in particular?” “Oh, no! That is a mere question of external symptoms. The disease itself is what is called a religious attitude of mind. It is the morbid desire to set up a fetish and adore it, to fall down and worship something. It makes little difference whether the something be Jesus or Buddha or a tum-tum tree. You don't agree with me, of course. You may be atheist or agnostic or anything you like, but I could feel the religious temperament in you at five yards.”