"You spend your money freely, you have fine buildings, self-respecting officers, but you lack the spirit of hospitality.

The reason is plain; you have a horror of the needy.

You invite us--and when we come you treat us justly enough, but as if we were numbers, criminals, beneath contempt--as if we had inflicted a personal injury on you; and when we get out again, we are naturally degraded." Shelton bit his lips.
"How much money will you want for your ticket, and to make a start ?" he asked.
The nervous gesture escaping Ferrand at this juncture betrayed how far the most independent thinkers are dependent when they have no money in their pockets.

He took the note that Shelton proffered him.
"A thousand thanks," said he; "I shall never forget what you have done for me"; and Shelton could not help feeling that there was true emotion behind his titter of farewell.
He stood at the window watching Ferrand start into the world again; then looked back at his own comfortable room, with the number of things that had accumulated somehow--the photographs of countless friends, the old arm-chairs, the stock of coloured pipes.

Into him restlessness had passed with the farewell clasp of the foreigner's damp hand.