Leonard was a bad enemy, and his long striving with the world sometimes led him to expect foes where they did not exist.
Even now this thought was in his mind: "He is dying," he said to himself, as he laid down the glass with the care of a man who cannot afford to hazard a belonging however trivial, "and yet his face is not so changed as mine is.

My God! he is dying! My brother--the only man--the only living creature I love in the world, except one perhaps, if indeed I love her still.

Everything is against us--I should say against me now, for I cannot count him.

Our father was our first enemy; he brought us into the world, neglected us, squandered our patrimony, dishonoured our name, and shot himself.

And since then what has it been but one continual fight against men and nature?
Even the rocks in which I dig for gold are foes--victorious foes--" and he glanced at his hands, scarred and made unshapely by labour.