This large
sympathy, this big comforting vision was his gift. Consequently he
believed in Life. Had he also, then, the gift of making others feel
and believe it too...?
There he was again, thinking in a circle, as Laroche flew past with
its empty platforms, and warned him that Paris was getting close. He
bumped out of Fairyland, yet tumbled back once more for a final
reverie before the long ugly arms of the city snatched him finally
out. 'To see life whole,' he reflected, 'is to see it glorious. To
think one's self part of humanity at large is to bring the universe
down into the heart. But to see life whole, a whole heart is
necessary.... He's done it in that splendid story, and he bagged the
raw idea somehow from me. That's something at any rate. ... So few
think Beaaty.... But will others see it? That's the point!'
'No, it isn't,' answered the voice beside him. 'The point is that he
has thought it, and the universe is richer. Even if others do not read
or understand, what he has thought _is there now_, for ever and ever.'
'True,' he reflected, 'for that Beauty may float down and settle in
other minds when they least are looking for it, and ignoring utterly
whence comes the fairy touch. Divine! Delicious! Heavenly!'
'The Beauty he has written came through you, yet was not yours,' the
voice continued very faintly.
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