It's beastly business thinking, though.
I fancy old Tennyson got very near the mark-- "'Perplexed in faith, but _pure in deeds_.
At last he beat his music out; There lives more faith in honest doubt, Believe me, than in half--'" There was a sharp bitter cry, stifled in the instant of its utterance, and Tyson started to his feet.

His mouth worked convulsively.

"My God! I don't care who's responsible for this filthy world.

Nobody but a fiend could take that little thing and torture her so.

Think of it, Louis!" "I'm trying not to think of it.