" With the reflection he felt again
the exhaustion of the nerves, the infirmity of purpose against which he
had struggled ever since his return. "If there were only something worth
fighting for, worth believing in! If I could only believe earnestly, or
desire passionately--anything!"
Just as Corinna had longed for perfection, for something to worship, he
found himself longing now for a cause, for any cause, even a lost one,
to which he could give himself. He wanted facts, deeds, certainties. He
was suffocated by shams and insincerities--and phrases.
Then suddenly, this was one of the symptoms of his nervous malady, the
reaction swept over him in a wave of energy which receded almost
immediately. If he could only find deliverance from himself and his own
subjective processes! If he could only be borne away by the passion he
felt and yet could not feel completely! He wanted Patty, he knew, but
did he want her enough to justify the effort that he must make to win
her? Would she be worth to him the break with his mother, with his
traditions, with his inherited ideals? He saw her small, slight figure
in the dappled sunlight under the budding trees.
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