There were natures that fed on trifles, and
died just for one hard word's sake; and I implied that I had such a
nature. The fact was, that my poverty had in that degree sharpened certain
powers in me, so that they caused me unpleasantness. Yes, I assure you
honestly, unpleasantness; worse luck! But this had also its advantages. It
helped me in certain situations in life. The poor intelligent man is a far
nicer observer than the rich intelligent man. The poor man looks about him
at every step he takes, listens suspiciously to every word he hears from
the people he meets, every step he takes affords in this way a task for
his thoughts and feelings--an occupation. He is quick of hearing, and
sensitive; he is an experienced man, his soul bears the sears of the
fire....
And I talked a long time over these sears my soul had. But the longer I
talked, the more troubled she grew. At last she muttered, "My God!" a
couple of times in despair, and wrung her hands. I could see well that I
tormented her, and I had no wish to torment her--but did it, all the same.
At last, being of the opinion that I had succeeded in telling her in rude
enough terms the essentials of what I had to say, I was touched by her
heart-stricken expression. I cried:
"Now I am going, now I am going. Can't you see that I already have my hand
on the handle of the door? Good-bye, good-bye," I say. "You might answer
me when I say good-bye twice, and stand on the point of going.
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