Seeing that I remained silent, he cried out: "Frank, you must tell me for our friendship's sake.

Is it my fault?
Was he wrong or was I wrong ?" His weakness was pathetic, or was it that his affection was still so great that he wanted to blame himself rather than his friend?
"Of course he seems to me to be wrong," I said, "utterly wrong." I could not help saying it and I went on: "But you know his temper is insane; if he even praises himself, as he did to me lately, he gets into a rage in order to do it, and perhaps unwittingly you annoyed him by the way you asked.

If you put it to his generosity and vainglory you would get it easier than from his sense of justice and right.

He has not much moral sense." "Oh, Frank," he broke in earnestly, "I put it to him as well as I could, quite quietly and gently.

I talked of our old affection, of the good and evil days we had passed together: you know I could never be harsh to him, never.
"There never was," he burst out, in a sort of exaltation, "there never was in the world such a betrayal.