"May I,"
he said, "open the window?"
"Certainly, Julius," said Lefevre, in surprise and alarm. "Do you feel
ill?"
"No--no," said Julius from the window, where he stood letting the air
play upon his face, and speaking as if he had to put considerable
restraint upon himself. "I--I am unfortunately, miserably constituted: I
cannot help it. I cannot bear the sight of illness, or lowness of health
even. It appals me; it--it horrifies me with a quite instinctive horror;
it deadens me."
Lefevre, whose abundant sympathy and vitality went out instinctively to
succour and bless the weak and the ill, was inexpressibly shocked and
offended by this confession of what to his sense appeared selfish
cowardice and inhumanity. He had again and again heard it said, and he
had with pleasure assented to the opinion, that Julius was a rare,
finely-strung being, with such pure and glowing health that he shrank
from contact with, or from the sight of, pain or ill-health, and even
from their discussion; but now that the singularity of Julius's
organization impinged upon his own experience, now that he saw Julius
shrink from himself, he was shocked and offended.
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