entity; he was what he was, laughing and careless, perhaps . . .
He has not showed that side of himself to me, Gunnar protested, with a trace of dismay in his tone. Not yet, Campaspe reflected, had the young man removed his eyes from Ambrose's back. If he would only look at her!
Well, he was . . . laughing and careless, until . . . she hesitated. To be perfectly frank, I noticed a certain change in Paul even before he met you.
You see . . . Gunnar was triumphant . . . he was searching.
I am not convinced that Paul has the right to search. However unconsciously, he had realized himself very neatly, very completely, I thought. I still think so. It may not have been a very big self, or a very important self, but it was Paulet's own.
But don't you believe in growth, in change, in accumulation, in collection? Gunnar cried out in astonishment.
I believe, Campaspe asseverated as devoutly as though she were reciting another Credo, that we are born what we are, some one way, some another, that we cannot change, no matter how hard we strive to. All we can do, with whatever amount of effort, is to drag an unsuspected quality out of its hiding place in the unconscious. If it is there, in us, it can neither be virtue nor vice. It can only
