I was in a conundrum this week. I didn’t know whether to quote from The Man Who Was Thursday by G.K.Chesterton or The Living Page by Laurie Bestvater.
Chesterton won out. Maybe Charlotte Mason will have her turn next week. Oh, to have such a dilemma.
For he was a sincere man, and in spite of his superficial airs and graces, at root a humble one. And it is always the humble man who talks too much; the proud man watches himself too closely.
And yet in some indescribable way, she kept recurring like a motive in music through all his mad adventures afterwards, and the glory of her strange hair ran like a red thread through those dark and ill-drawn tapestries of the night. For what followed was so improbable, that it might well have been a dream.
“Oh, don’t apologize,” said Syme. “I know your passion for love and order,” and he stepped into the passage lined with the steel weapons. With his long, fair hair and rather foppish frock-coat, he looked a singularly frail and fanciful figure as he walked down that shining avenue of death.
Ah, Chesterton, there is no other.