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THE W1NDoWran like an alphabet from A to Z). Somebodywould reach it—if not he, then another. Thisman’s strength and sanity, his feeling for straightforward simple things, these fishermen, the poorold crazed creature in Mucklebackit’s cottagemade him feel so vigorous, so relieved of something that he felt roused and triumphant and couldnot choke back his tears. Raising the book alittle to hide his face he let them fall and shookhis head from side to side and forgot himselfcompletely (but not one or two reflections aboutmorality and French novels and English novelsand Scott’s hands being tied but his view perhapsbeing as true as the other view) forgot his ownbothers and failures completely in poor Steenie’sdrowning and Mucklebackit’s sorrow (that wasScott at his best) and the astonishing delight andfeeling of vigour that it gave him.

Well, let them improve upon that, he thoughtr as he finished the chapter. He felt that he hadbeen arguing with somebody, and had got thebetter of him. They could not improve uponthat, whatever they might say; and his ownposition became more secure. The lovers werefiddlesticks, he thought, collecting it all in hismind again. That’s fiddlesticks, that’s iirst—rate,he thought, putting one thing beside another.But he must read it again. He could not remem18 5