human
I see, Taffy nodded.
gpt
And—I say, that's jolly. Who wrote it?
human
A man I used to see in the streets of Oxford, and always turned to stare after: a man with big oddly shaped feet and the face of a god—a young tormented god. Those were days when young men's thoughts tormented them. Taffy, he asked, abruptly,
gpt
Don't, father! The boy bit his lip to keep back the tears.
human
Talk of something else—something cheerful. It has been a splendid fight, just splendid! And now it's over I'm almost sorry.
gpt
What is over?
human
Well, I suppose—now that Honoria wants to help—we can hire workmen and have the whole job finished in a month or two at farthest: and you——
gpt
That is one way of looking at it, no doubt, he said, slowly;
human
Your book ... you can go back to it and finish it.
gpt
I have burnt it.
human
Dad!
gpt
I burned it. I had to. It was a temptation to me, and until I lifted it from the grate and the flakes crumbled in my hands, the surrender was not complete.
human
It had to be complete?
gpt
Either the book or the surrender. My boy —and in his voice there echoed the aspiration and the despair of the true scholar who abhors imperfection and incompleteness in a world where nothing is either perfect or complete,
human
We will go on, then.
gpt
Yes, we will go on.
human
And Jacky? Where has he been? I haven't seen him since the Squire died.