What was that Polston had said about starving to death for a kind word?
LOVE?
He was sick of the sickly talk,--crushed it out of his heart with a savage scorn.

He remembered his father, the night he died, had said in his weak ravings that God was love.

Was He?
No wonder, then, He was the God of women, and children, and unsuccessful men.

For him, he was done with it.

He was here with stronger purpose than to yield to weaknesses of the flesh.