His face was a trifle too delicate, perhaps, to go with those remorseless sharp decisions which must be made by the men who win careers.
"I know that you can't go through the world without hurting people," cried Hardiman.

"Neither you nor any one else, except the limpets.

And you won't escape hurting Stella Croyle, by abandoning your chances.

Your love-affair will end--all of that kind do.

And yours will end in a bitter, irretrievable quarrel after you have ruined yourself, and because you have ruined yourself.