One received much, and perhaps, however unconsciously, however
lightly, one gave something of one's own as well.

But all Hugh's relations with others were overshadowed by the great
doubt, which was perhaps the heaviest burden he had to carry, as to
whether one's individuality endured. The thought that it might not
survive death, made him shrink back from establishing a closeness of
emotional dependence on another, the loss of which would be
intolerable. The natural flame of the heart seemed quenched and
baffled by that cold thought. It was the same instinct that made him,
as a boy, refuse the gift of a dog, when a pet collie, that had been
his own, had been killed by an accident. The pain of the loss had
seemed so acute, so irreparable, that he preferred to live uncomforted
rather than face such another parting; and there seemed, too, a kind of
treachery in replacing love. If, on the other hand, individuality did
endure, the best of all relationships seemed to Hugh a frank and
sincere companionship, such as may arise between two wayfarers whose
road lies together for a little, and who talk easily and familiarly as
they walk in the clear light of the dawn. Hugh felt that there was an
abundance of fellow-pilgrims, men and women alike, to consort with, to
admire, to love; this affability and accessibility made it always easy
for Hugh to enter into close relationship with others. He had little
desire to guard his heart; and the sacred intimacy, the sharing of
secret thoughts and hopes, which men as a rule give but to a few, Hugh
was perhaps too ready to give to all. What he lost in depth and
intensity he perhaps gained in breadth. But he also became aware that
he had a certain coldness of temperament. Many were dear to him, but
none essential. There was no jealousy about his relations with others.
He never demanded of a friend that he should give him a special or
peculiar regard. His frankness was indeed sometimes misunderstood, and
people occasionally supposed that they had evoked a nearness of
feeling, an impassioned quality, which was not really there. "You give
away your heart in handfuls," said a friend to him once in a paroxysm
of anger, fancying himself neglected; and Hugh felt that it was both
just and unjust. He had never, he thought, given his heart away at
all, except as a boy to his chosen friend. But he gave a smiling and
tender affection very easily to all who seemed to desire it. He knew
ind