Is it what you told me the night we were standing outside Harcourt Street station? --Yes, Stephen said, smiling in spite of himself at Cranly's way of remembering thoughts in connexion with places. Both the children had a gentleness (it was their only fault, and it never made Miles a muff) that kept them--how shall I express it?--almost impersonal and certainly quite unpunishable. Time is, time was, but time shall be no more! Time was to sin in secrecy, to indulge in that sloth and pride, to covet the unlawful, to yield to the promptings of your lower nature, to live like the beasts of the field, nay worse than the beasts of the field, for they, at least, are but brutes and have no reason to guide them: time was, but time shall be no more. --Of course I tried to carry it off as best I could.