He now said to Cope:
"Of course you must know I feel you were none too handsomely treated.
George is a pleasant, enterprising fellow, but somewhat sudden and
rapacious. If he is happy, I hope you are no less happy yourself...." Thus
he resumed the subject which had been dropped at the Library door.
Cope shrank a little, and Randolph felt him shrinking. He fell silent; he
understood. Pain sometimes took its own time to travel, and reached its
goal by a slow, circuitous route. He thought suddenly of his bullfight in
Seville, twenty-five years before. He had sat out his six bulls with entire
composure; yet, back in America, some time later, he had encountered a
bullfight in an early film and had not been able to follow it through.
Cope, perhaps, was beginning to feel the edge of the sword and the drag at
his vitals. The thing was over, and his, the elder man's, own part in it
successfully accomplished; so why had he, conventional commentator, felt
the need of further words?
He let the unhappy matter drop. When he spoke again he reminded Cope that
the invitation for himself and Lemoyne still held good.
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