A procession of old school and college friends came up before his eyes.

After all, what had there been in his own education, or theirs, to give them any other standard than this "good form"?
What had there been to teach them anything of life?
Their imbecility was incredible when you came to think of it.

They had all the air of knowing everything, and really they knew nothing--nothing of Nature, Art, or the Emotions; nothing of the bonds that bind all men together.

Why, even such words were not "good form"; nothing outside their little circle was "good form." They had a fixed point of view over life because they came of certain schools, and colleges, and regiments! And they were those in charge of the state, of laws, and science, of the army, and religion.
Well, it was their system--the system not to start too young, to form healthy fibre, and let the after-life develop it! "Successful!" he thought, nearly stumbling over a pair of patent-leather boots belonging to a moon-faced, genial-looking member with gold nose-nippers; "oh, it 's successful!" Somebody came and picked up from the table the very volume which had originally inspired this train of thought, and Shelton could see his solemn pleasure as he read.

In the white of his eye there was a torpid and composed abstraction.