For example, it isn't purely coincidentally that you are
here now, when one comes to reflect."
To his relief, George began to talk.
"It is. I have reflected. It is Fate. Everything is Fate. We are
flung together by Fate, drawn apart by Fate--flung together,
drawn apart. The twelve winds blow us--we settle nothing--"
"You have not reflected at all," rapped the clergyman. "Let me
give you a useful tip, Emerson: attribute nothing to Fate. Don't
say, 'I didn't do this,' for you did it, ten to one. Now I'll
cross-question you. Where did you first meet Miss Honeychurch and
myself?"
"Italy."
"And where did you meet Mr. Vyse, who is going to marry Miss
Honeychurch?"
"National Gallery."
"Looking at Italian art. There you are, and yet you talk of
coincidence and Fate. You naturally seek out things Italian, and
so do we and our friends. This narrows the field immeasurably
we meet again in it."
"It is Fate that I am here," persisted George. "But you can call
it Italy if it makes you less unhappy.
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