As soon as he thought about other people as real, Maurice became modest and conscious of sin: in all creation there could be no one as vile as himself: no wonder he pretended to be a piece of cardboard; if known as he ws, he would be hounded out of the world.
Every man has somewhere about him some belief for which he'd die.
Most of the day he sat with open eyes, as if looking into the Valley he had left. It was all so plain now. He had lied. He phrased it "been fed upon lies," but lies are the natural food of boyhood, and he had eaten greedily.
he liked being thrown about by a powerful and handsome boy.
clive...ํํํ...์ด๋ ์ ์ง์ง ๋์จ
But books meant so much for him he forgot that they were a bewilderment to others.
๋๋ฌด ๊ณต๊ฐ๋ผ์
Blessed are the uneducated, who forget it entirely, and are never conscious of folly or pruriency in the past, of long aimless conversations.
Fed neither by Heaven nor by Earth he was going forward, a lamp that would have blown out, were materialism true. He hadn't a God, he hadn't a lover-the two usual incentives to virtue.
If this new doctor could alter his being, was it not his duty to go, though body and soul would be violated?
When he reached the window Maurice called, "Scudder," and he turned like a well-trained dog. "Alec, you're a dear fellow and we've been very happy."
์ ๋ฐ์ ์ผ๋ก ์์ํ๊ณ ์์ ์ ์ธ ๋ฌธํ์ด๋ค. ๊ทธ๋ฐ๋ฐ ์ง๊ธ ์๋์ ์ฝ๊ธฐ์๋ ์กฐ๊ธ ์ฌ๋ํ ๊ณ ๋ฏผ์ด์ง ์๋.... ๊ทธ๋ฆฌ๊ณ ๊ทธ๋ฅ ๋ชจ๋ฆฌ์ค์ ํด๋ผ์ด๋ธ๊ฐ ์ ํธ๋ฆฌ ์ธต์ด๋ผ์ ๊ณ ๋ฏผํ ๊ฒ ์ฑ์ ์ฒด์ฑ๋ฐ์ ์๋ ๊ฒ ๋ถ๋ฌ์ ๋ค. ๊ฐ์๊ธฐ ํด๋ผ์ด๋ธ๊ฐ ์ ์ฒด์ฑ์ ๋ฐ๊พธ๋ ๊ฒ๋ ๊ทธ๋ ๊ณ ์ข ์๋ ํด์ด๋ฌธํ๋ค์ด.... ๊ทธ๋ ์ง๋ง 20์ธ๊ธฐ ์ด๋ฐ์ ์ฐ์ธ ๊ฑธ ์๊ฐํ๋ฉด ์ฝ์ ๊ฐ์น๊ฐ ์์๋ค. ๋น์ ์๋ฅ์ธต ๋์ฑ์ ์์ ์ถ๊ณผ ๊ณ ๋ฏผ, ๊ทธ๋ฆฌ๊ณ ๋งค์ฐ ๋ฐฐ์ฒ์ ์ธ ์๊ตญ ์ฌํ๋ฅผ ๋ณผ ์ ์์๊ณ ๋์์ ๊ทธ๋ผ ํ์ธต๋ฏผ ๋์ฑ์ ์์ ์ถ์ ์ด๋ ์๊น ๊ถ๊ธ์ฆ์ด ์๊ฒผ๋ค.