"
"That's just what I don't want; it's what I want to talk about.
You must get a new interest."
"I don't want a new interest, daddy. I have more old ones than I
know what to do with."
The old man lay there looking at his son; his face was the face of
the dying, but his eyes were the eyes of Daniel Touchett. He seemed to
be reckoning over Ralph's interests. "Of course you have your mother,"
he said at last. "You'll take care of her."
"My mother will always take care of herself," Ralph returned.
"Well," said his father, "perhaps as she grows older she'll need a
little help."
"I shall not see that. She'll outlive me."
"Very likely she will; but that's no reason-!" Mr. Touchett let
his phrase die away in a helpless but not quite querulous sigh and
remained silent again.
"Don't trouble yourself about us," said his son. "My mother and I
get on very well together, you know."
"You get on by always being apart; that's not natural."
"If you leave us we shall probably see more of each other."
"Well," the old man observed with wandering irrelevance, "it can't
be said that my death will make much difference in your mother's
life.
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