ABSTRACT
The long, laudatory obituaries, however, and the presence of so many of the mighty at the service had one good result. They briefly resurrected Felix, so that he seemed to stand again, as in raiment white and glistening. Then, as with a puff, he was gone again, restored to the nothing, the oblivion, in which the last two years had cast him. But as Easter brightens the darkness of the Passion, so did this momentary resurgence of Felix, young again and brilliant, provide a permanent substitute for the sad memory of the sickroom and that vacant stare. It was an exquisite, immediate relief. For the words, the wonderful words, the crisp and pungent phrases, the sharp staccato sentences and their longer, subtler, mellifluous counterparts, now swarmed together to obliterate doubt, to overwhelm criticism.
