Fortunate or unfortunate, Gerald was still lucky in his freedom to hazard it with chance and fate.
Freedom to love! That alone was blessed, though that love be unreturned.
Without that right--the right to love--a man was no man.

Lansing had been correct: such a man was a spectre in a living world--the ghost of what he had been.

But there was no help for it, and there Lansing had been in the wrong.

No hope, no help, nothing for it but to set a true course and hang to it.
And Selwyn's dull eyes rested upon the ashes of the fire, and he saw his dead youth among them; and, in the flames, his maturity burning to embers.
If he outlived Alixe, his life would lie as the ashes lay at his feet.
If she outlived him--and they had told him there was every chance of it--at least he would have something to busy himself with in life if he was to leave her provided for when he was no longer there to stand between her and charity.
That meant work--the hard, incessant, blinding, stupefying work which stuns thought and makes such a life endurable.
Not that he had ever desired death as a refuge or as a solution of despair; there was too much of the soldier in him.

Besides, it is so impossible for youth to believe in death, to learn to apply the word to themselves.