I soon found Charmides, and I told him my adventures. "That is a
curious story," he said. "I like to think of people caring for each
other so; that is picturesque! These simple emotions are interesting.
And one likes to think that people who have none of the finer tastes
should have something to fall back upon--something hot and strong, as we
used to say."
"But," I said, "tell me this, Charmides, was there never any one in the
old days whom you cared for like that?"
"I thought so often enough," said he, a little peevishly, "but you do
not know how much a man like myself is at the mercy of little things! An
ugly hand, a broken tooth, a fallen cheek ... it seems little enough,
but one has a sort of standard. I had a microscopic eye, you know, and a
little blemish was a serious thing to me. I was always in search of
something that I could not find; then there were awkward strains in the
characters of people--they were mean or greedy or selfish, and all my
pleasure was suddenly dashed. I am speaking," he went on, "with a
strange candour! I don't defend it or excuse it, but there it was. I did
once, as a child, I believe, care for one person--an old nurse of
mine--in the right way.
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