'You might write a book about it, you know--try and make people
believe it--convince them. Eh? Only, you'd have to give your proofs,
you know. People want proofs.'
Minks, pinker than before, hesitated a moment. He was not sure how far
he ought to, indulge his private theories in words. The expression in
his chief's blue eyes apparently encouraged him.
'But, indeed, Mr. Rogers, the proofs are there. Those moments of
sudden strength and joy that visit a man, catching him unawares and
unexplained--every solitary man and woman knows them, for every
solitary man and woman in the world craves first of all--to _be_
loved. To love another, others, an impersonal Cause, is not enough. It
is only half of life; to _be_ loved is the other half. If every single
person--I trust, sir, I do not tire you?--was loved by some one, the
happiness of life would be enormously greater than it is, for each one
loved would automatically then give out from his own store, and to
receive love makes one overflow with love for every one else. It is
so, is it not, sir?'
Rogers, an odd thrill catching him unawares, nodded. 'It is, Minks, it
is,' he agreed. 'To love one person makes one half prepared to love
all, and to be loved in turn may have a similar effect. It is nice to
think so anyhow.'
'It is true, sir----' and Minks sat up, ready with another deluge.
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