Hello everyone. Welcome to another live. Today I want to tell you how karma is coming for the narcissist. Now we always speak about karma and how the narcissist eventually gets it. They eventually get what's coming to them. But we never speak about how it actually happens. We never actually give the proof, the evidence, the actual moment, the situation. We never do that. So today I thought it's time that we do do that and I would like to share that with you now. So karma is coming for the narcissist and there's really no way for them to escape it. I would say that they are actually drawn to their karma and what they did to you, it's coming back to them. They will get a taste of their own medicine and there's really nothing that they can do to avoid it. For them to avoid their karma, well there's really only one way that they could avoid it. And that would be by going within and no longer being a narcissist, making things right, venturing themselves. Ironically that would actually be the only way that the narcissist could avoid their karma. And in that case I would think it's justified if they do take the time to work in themselves and realise what they've done wrong. Maybe yes, maybe they do deserve to avoid their karma in that situation. But as many of you know, they don't do that.  They took everything you had and they left you with nothing. And when all was said and done, they rode off into the sunset with this new person. Look like they were having a great time. They look so much happier now and this new person is meant to be so much better than you. They're more attractive, they have more money. They understand the narcissist, they look after them. They do all of these things that you never did. And it looks like the narcissist is doing things that they never did with you. Now you're missing out on everything. You're missing out on all of the fun and excitement because they could never be that way with you. And it just makes you feel completely worthless. It makes you feel like you're nothing.  After all you did.  But it was never enough. They were never satisfied and it just made you look at yourself and think, what's wrong with me? Am I not good enough? Everything I've done, all of the time, all of the love, all of the money I spent. Did that really not mean anything to you? Is how you might be thinking. And the worst part about it is, yes, it didn't mean anything to them. You held no sentimental value to the narcissist. They never saw you like that. There was no love. And that's why they always lacked affection. They always lacked warmth. They never really wanted to hug you or kiss you. There may have been sex but it was very robotic. There was no emotions behind it. There was no expressions of love. And they betrayed you so many times. They were never loyal. So these are all of the signs that you know. You never meant anything to the narcissist. It was all a lie. It was fake. And that's how they could so easily just go out there and forget about you. Like you never meant anything because you never did mean anything. That's the truth. If you meant so much to them, they wouldn't have left. They would have realised what they did wrong. And they would have made the correct adjustments. And they would have stayed consistent to it. But they didn't. No, they went off and they met someone else. And they felt so entitled to everything you had. They just took it all and left. Without feeling any need to repay you. To do any good deeds for you. To even thank you or appreciate you. Because they felt entitled to it. They feel inherently deserving of privileges and spetal treatment. They think you owe them a living. So why would they ever thank you? Why would they ever be grateful when it's all over? And that's how they could just pick up and leave so easily. It's very easy to leave when you've invested nothing into something. If you've invested your heart and soul. All of your money. It's going to be very hard for you to walk away. But with the narcissist. They never invest anything. It's always you who is doing everything for them. You're helping them. You're making them feel better. You're spending all of their money. You're the one who is investing everything. And they're just taking. They haven't lost anything. There wasn't even any emotional investment. And that's why they lacked affection and warmth. So they ride off into the sunset. They found this new person who's supposed to be more attractive. They'd be richer than you. Someone who treats them better. Someone who isn't always miserable and stressed. Like you were meant to be. And it may look like things are better for them. You see the pictures and social media. It looks like they're having a good time. And it just makes you feel like something was wrong with you. Or karma doesn't exist. It's not working. Because if it was, how could they do all of this stuff to you. And just move on. And find this better person who treats them well.  How could that happen if karma is real? When you see all of this stuff. All of these pictures and videos on social media. All of the bragging and boasting from the narcissist and flaunting their new supply. They're trying to sell a dream to you. And this is a dream that has been sold to them by this new person that they have met. This person is selling a dream, a fantasy to the narcissist. And then the narcissist is selling this dream to you. They're using it to hurt you. But many times the narcissist meets their supply through their family or friends. People who they admire. People who they look up to. People who they trust. Their family or friends set them up with this new person. And this new person is likely to be a narcissist or a player themselves. Because at the end of a relationship the narcissist is in a vulnerable state. They're gullible and naive. They're highly suggestible. They're open to being sold a dream. Number one, because they want to get back at you. They want revenge. They want to hurt you.   And how they were the victim. They've gone around and told everyone that. So now they need to prove to everyone that they're okay. There's nothing wrong with them. They can have a healthy relationship with someone else. So they have to portray this image to everyone. That things are going well with this new person. Who may be a narcissist or a player. And this really is their ultimate karma. Because despite what they're going through. They could be going through hell. This new person could be doing things to the narcissist.  Than what they were saying about you. But the thing about it is. They can't even tell anyone. They can't come back to you. They've already burned that bridge. They've already told their family and friends how bad you are. So how foolish would they look if they came back to you. And they told everyone that you were the problem. They can't do that. So they can't come back seeking your help and support. Especially since. They're trying to use this new person to hurt you. And on top of that they can't even go to their own family and friends. Because. They're trying to portray this image. That nothing is wrong with them. And they're doing so much better without you. You were the problem. You were the narcissist. You were the toxic person. Or another scenario is that. Many of their family and friends are narcissists as well. The people who they look up to. The people who they admire and trust in their family. And their social circle. Many of these people are just as shady as the narcissist. And they're only looking out for their own personal gain. And. They're setting up the narcissist. With someone. Who is going to help them to get that. Someone who is going to help them to get what they want. Regardless of how the narcissist is being treated. They don't care. So as you can see there are various situations where. Once the narcissist leaves you and tries to move on. And find someone else. That's when they get their karma. They may have played you. But now they're about to be played.  Because they went around and told everyone that you were so bad. They demonised you. You did everything for them. But they still managed to find something wrong with you. Because it was either you or them. But they don't realise. What a cold world it is. You were nice. You were caring. You were given. You were generous. You were helpful. And there are many people in this world who are not like that. People who have no consideration for other people. People who will do whatever it takes to get ahead. People who will exploit you. People who will use and abuse you. And the narcissist is going out there. Thinking that they can do better. Because they have to label you as the issue. And they don't even see the train coming. They don't even see it. What's about to happen. But really it's inevitable. They can't avoid it because they need supply. They need attention. They're desperate for it. And as we know. These types of personalities, narcissists. They know when someone is lonely. They know when you are seeking company. And they will exploit you for it. And they will exploit other narcissists or toxic people. And this is what's in store for the narcissist. When they go out there. Hoot. Afraid. Everything after leaving you. After all the fights and arguments. I mean they were already broken people anyway.  You weaken them. And they're in desperate need for supply. It's just not a good position for them to be in. And it really is inevitable. They think they had it bad with you. They thought that you were treating them bad. When you set boundaries. When you stood up to them. When you questioned and confronted them. They thought you were the bad guy. But they're really going to realise. When they go out there. When they find a new supply.  They experience. What they did to you. That's when it's really going to hit them. And they know when things were better. They know the difference. And they will wish. That they could come back to you. Because. You gave them safety and security. You gave them comfort. It felt like home. When they were with you. Because you were predictable. You never changed. You never switched up on them. They always knew what to expect from you. They trusted you. And they lose that.  Because they've burned that bridge. They've told everyone. How bad you are. How you are the problem. So now they would look very foolish if they come back. After all of these lies and stories. That they have told their family and friends. After they took no accountability. People may even start looking at them. Like they're the problem. Or as I said. Many of their friends and family members. Maybe narcissists as well. And they set the narcissist up with someone. Who's only going to take advantage of them. Because their family and friends are very shady characters. And they're only looking out for their own personal gain. And on top of that. The narcissist has to portray this dream to you. This fantasy. They're using it to hurt you. To make you think that they don't really need you. That they can move on and be happier without you. That they can do better. That they can find someone else who is better than you. Because when you do all of these nice things for them. And you help them. They don't really appreciate it. They're just looking at it like. Oh so these are all of the reasons why you're better than me. They feel insecure. And that's why the more you do for them.  The more they resent you. Because that's coming from you. It's coming from your qualities, abilities or money. And they just see it as though. You have something to give and they don't. It makes them feel inferior to you. Even when you're just trying to help them. But they remember where it was safe. They remember. Where it was comfortable. Where it was warm. And they will never forget that. They may not be any real love or affection involved in it. But you just held a safe place for them. You gave them security and stability. You protected them from danger and harm. And when it all comes down to it. That's all a narcissist really wants. Yes they may go out to bars and clubs. They may go looking for other sources or supply. But they can't do that. They can't feel comfortable. Unless they've already got someone waited at home. Their primary grade A source. That's what gives them comfort. That's what gives them their security. And keeps them stable and sane. It's when they've got someone to fall back on. Someone who would have been there for them no matter what. Despite everything they did to you. You put up with it. You overlooked it. You looked past it. You still saw the good in them. If there was anything there you saw it. And there's nothing a narcissist craves more than that. That feeling of safety. And protection. That feeling of warmth. Unconditional love. And it's very hard to find that these days. A lot of people are just looking out for themselves. They have no desire to provide anything to you. This is just what the narcissist runs into in the end. This is their karma. And they lock themselves into a situation where you can't see them from it. After they told everyone about you. They've ruined your reputation. They've just shot themselves in the foot. They really have. And it's sad but there's nothing you can do to change it. And in a way maybe this is a sign from some higher power or God. To protect you. Because they really had no intention of changing anyway. They were destined to continue this behaviour. No matter what. But yeah. It's a very cold world out there. Where people are looking out for themselves. They take doggy dog world. And when they leave you. Their karma is that they. Start to realise that.  Without you. They're getting used and abused. By all types of people. They're getting walked over.  And there's really nothing they can do about it. Because either they're family and friends. Or all shady characters who are not. Trying to protect them from it. Or. Because they still have to sell this image. This dream. Some believe that they are going through it. This is the proof. This is the reality of it. They thought that they were. Moving on to something bigger and better. A shiny new toy. But they actually just went and settled for less. So this is it. Karma is coming for the narcissist. You shouldn't have any uncertainties about that. And. Don't intervene. Don't try to help them. Let karma do what it needs to do. Let them go through it. Maybe it will teach them a lesson. Maybe they will learn. I highly doubt it. But sometimes it does happen. And I'd just like to thank you all. For joining me here today. Means a lot to have you here. I appreciate you all. And please. 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CHAPTER 39 Lazy Lawrence Laurie went to Nice, intending to stay a week, and remained a month. He was tired of wandering about alone, and Amy's familiar presence seemed to give a home-like charm to the foreign scenes in which she bore apart. He rather missed the petting he used to receive, and enjoyed a taste of it again, for no attentions however flattering from strangers were half so pleasant as the sisterly adoration of the girls at home. Amy never would pet him like the others, but she was very glad to see him now and quite clung to him, feeling that he was the representative of the dear family for whom she longed more than she would confess. They naturally took comfort in each other's society, and were much together, riding, walking, dancing, or dawdling, for at Nice no one can be very industrious during the gay season. But while apparently amusing themselves in the most careless fashion, they were half consciously making discoveries and forming opinions about each other. Amy rose daily in the estimation of her friend, but he sank in hers, and each felt the truth before a word was spoken. Amy tried to please and succeeded, but she was grateful for the many pleasures he gave her, and repaid him with the little services to which womanly women know how to lend an indescribable charm. Laurie made no effort of any kind, but just let himself drift along as comfortably as possible, trying to forget and feeling that all women owed him a kind word because one had been cold to him. It cost him no effort to be generous, and he would have given Amy all the trinkets in Nice if she would have taken them, but at the same time he felt that he could not change the opinion she was forming of him, and he rather dreaded the keen blue eyes that seemed to watch him with such half sorrowful, half scornful surprise. All the rest had gone to Monaco for the day. I prefer to stay at home and write letters. They are done now, and I am going to Valrosa to sketch. Will you come? said Amy, as she joined Laurie one lovely day when he lounged in, as usual, about noon. Well, yes, but isn't it rather warm for such a long walk? he answered slowly, for the shaded salon looked inviting after the glare without. I'm going to have the little carriage, and Baptiste can drive, so you'll have nothing to do but hold your umbrella and keep your gloves nice. Returned Amy, the sarcastic glance at the immaculate kids, which were a weak point with Laurie. Then I'll go with pleasure, and he put out his hand for her sketchbook, but she tucked it under her arm with a sharp, don't trouble yourself. There's no exertion to me, you don't look equal to it. Laurie lifted his eyebrows and followed at a leisurely pace as she ran downstairs. When they got into the carriage, he took the reins himself, and left little Baptiste nothing to do but fold his arms and fall asleep on his perch. The two never quarreled. Amy was too well-read, and just now, Laurie was too lazy, so in a minute he peeped under her hat brim with an inquiring air. She answered him with a smile, and they went on together in the most amicable manner. There was a lovely drive along winding roads rich in the picturesque scenes that delight beauty-loving eyes. Here in ancient monastery, once the solemn chanting of the monks came down to them, there a bare-legged shepherd, in wooden shoes, pointed hat, and rough jacket over one shoulder, sat piping on a stone while his goats skipped among the rocks, or lay at his feet. Meek, mouse-colored donkeys, laden with paniers of freshly cut grass passed by, with a pretty girl in a capoline sitting between the green piles, or an old woman spinning with a distaff as she went. Brown, soft-eyed children ran out from the quaint stone hovels to offer nose-gaze, or bunches of oranges still on the bow. Gnarled olive trees covered the hills with their dusky foliage, fruit hung golden in the orchard, and great scarlet anemones fringed the roadside, while beyond green slopes and craggy heights the maritime alps rose sharp and white against the blue Italian sky. Balrosa well deserved his name, for in that climate of perpetual summer roses blossomed everywhere. They overhung the archway, thrust themselves between the bars of the great gate, with a sweet welcome to passers-by, and lined the avenue, winding through lemon trees and feathery palms up to the villa on the hill. Every shadowy nook where seats invited want to stop and rest was a mass of bloom. Every cool grotto had its marble nymph smiling from a veil of flowers, and every fountain reflected crimson, white, or pale pink roses, leaning down to smile at their own beauty. Roses covered the walls of the house, draped the cornices, climbed the pillars, and ran riot over the bullestrade of the wide terrace, once one looked down on the sunny Mediterranean and the white-walled city on its shore. This is a regular honeymoon paradise, isn't it? Did you ever see such roses? Asked Amy, pausing on the terrace to enjoy the view, and a luxurious whiff of perfume that came wandering by. No, Nor felt such thorns. Returned Laurie, with his thumb in his mouth after a vain attempt to capture a solitary scarlet flower that grew just beyond his reach. Try lower down and pick those that have no thorns. Said Amy, gathering three of the tiny cream-colored ones that starred the wall behind her. She put them in his buttonhole as a peace offering, and he stood a minute looking down at them with a curious expression. For in the Italian part of his nature there was a touch of superstition, and he was just then in that state of half sweet, half bitter melancholy when imaginative young men find significance in trifles and food for romance everywhere. He had thought of Joe in reaching after the thorny red rose, for vivid flowers became her, and she had often worn ones like that from the greenhouse at home. The pale roses Amy gave him were the sort that the Italians lay in dead hands, never in bridal reeds, and for a moment he wondered if the omen was for Joe or for himself. The next instant his American common sense got the better of sentimentality, and he laughed a hardier laugh than Amy had heard since he came. It's good advice you'd better take it and save your fingers, she said, thinking her speech amused him. Thank you, I will, he answered in jest, and a few months later he did it in earnest. Laurie, when are you going to your grandfather? She asked presently as she settled herself on a rustic seat. Very soon. You have said that a dozen times within the last three weeks. I dare say a short answer saved trouble.  Hospitable creature! I know it. Then why don't you do it? Natural depravity, I suppose. Natural indolence, you mean. It's really dreadful. And Amy looked severe. Not so bad as it seems, for I should only plague him if I went, so I might as well stay and plague you a little longer. You can bear it better. In fact, I think it agrees with you excellently. And Laurie composed himself for a lounge on the broad ledge of the ball astrade. Amy shook her head and opened her sketchbook with an air of resignation, but she had made up her mind to lecture that boy, and in a minute she began again. What are you doing just now? Watching lizards. No, no, I mean, what do you intend and wish to do? Smoke a cigarette if you'll allow me. How provoking you are. I don't approve of cigars, and I will only allow it on condition that you let me put you into my sketch. I need a figure. With all the pleasure in life. How will you have me?  I should respectfully suggest a recumbent posture, then put yourself in, also, and call it Dolce Farniente.  I intend to work hard, said Amy in her most energetic tone. What delightful enthusiasm! And he leaned against a tall urn with an air of entire satisfaction. Well, Joe, save, she saw you now, asked Amy impatiently, hoping to stir him up by the mention of her still more energetic sister's name. As usual, go away, Teddy, I'm busy. He laughed as he spoke, but the laugh was not natural, and a shade passed over his face, for the utterance of the familiar name touched the wound that was not healed yet. Both tone and shadow struck Amy, for she had seen and heard them before, and now she looked up in time to catch a new expression on Larry's face, a hard-bitter look full of pain, dissatisfaction, and regret. It was gone before she could study it and the listless expression back again. She watched him for a moment with artistic pleasure, thinking how like an Italian he looked as he laid basking in the sun, with uncovered head and eyes full of southern dreaminess, for he seemed to have forgotten her and fallen into a reverie. You look like the effigy of a young knight asleep on his tomb, she said, carefully tracing the well-cut profile defined against the dark stone. Wish I was.  You are so changed, I sometimes think, there, Amy stopped, with a half-timid, half-wistful look, more significant than her unfinished speech. Larry saw and understood the affectionate anxiety which she hesitated to express, and looking straight into her eyes said, just as he used to say it to her mother, it's all right, ma'am. That satisfied her, and said at rest the doubts that had begun to worry her lately. It also touched her, and she showed that it did by the cordial tone in which she said, I'm glad of that. I didn't think you'd been a very bad boy, but I fancied you might have wasted money at that wicked baden-baden. Lost your heart to some charming French woman with a husband, or got into some of the scrapes that young men seem to consider a necessary part of a foreign tour?  Come and lie in the grass here, and let us be friendly, as Joe used to say, when we got in the sofa corner and told secrets. Larry obediently threw himself down on the turf, and began to amuse himself by sticking daisies into the ribbons of Amy's hat that lay there. I'm all ready for the secrets, and he glanced up with a decided expression of interest in size. I've none to tell. You may begin. Haven't won to bless myself with. I thought perhaps you'd have some news from home. You have heard all that has come lately. Don't you hear often? I fancy Joe would send you volumes. She's very busy. I'm roving it out, so it's impossible to be regular, you know. When do you begin your great work of art, Rafaela? He asked, changing the subject abruptly after another pause, in which he had been wondering if Amy knew his secret and wanted to talk about it. Never, she answered with a despondent but decided air. Rome took all the vanity out of me, for after seeing the wonders there I felt too insignificant to live, and gave up all my foolish hopes and despair. Why should you with so much energy and talent? That's just why, because talent isn't genius, and no amount of energy can make it so. I want to be great or nothing. I won't be a commonplace dober, so I don't intend to try anymore. And what are you going to do with yourself now, if I may ask? Polish up my other talents and be an ornament to society if I get the chance. It was a characteristic speech and sounded daring, but audacity becomes young people. And Amy's ambition had a good foundation. Laurie smiled, but he liked the spirit with which she took up any purpose when a long cherished one died, and spent no time lamenting. Good. And here's where Fred Vaughn comes in, I fancy. Amy preserved a discreet silence.  May I? I don't promise to answer.  You aren't woman of the world enough yet to hide your feelings, my dear. I heard rumors about Fred and you last year, and it's my private opinion that if he had not been called home so suddenly and detained so long, something would have come of it, hey? That's not for me to say, was Amy's grim reply, but her lips would smile and there was a treacherous sparkle of the eye which betrayed that she knew her power and enjoyed the knowledge. We're not engaged, I hope. And Laurie looked very elder brotherly and grave all of a sudden. No, but you will be if he comes back and goes properly down on his knees, won't you? Very likely. Then you're fond of old Fred. It could be if I tried. But you don't intend to try till the proper moment. Bless my soul, what unearthly prudence. He's a good fellow, Amy, not the man I fancy you'd like. He's rich, a gentleman, and has delightful manners. Again, Amy, trying to be quite cool and dignified, but feeling a little ashamed of herself in spite of the sincerity of her intentions. I understand. Queens of society can't get on without money, so you mean to make a good match and start in that way? Quite right and proper as the world goes, it sounds odd from the lips of one of your mother's girls. True nevertheless. A short speech, but the quiet decision with which it was uttered, contrasted curiously with the young speaker. Laurie felt this instinctively, and laid himself down again with a sense of disappointment which you could not explain. His look in silence, as well as a certain inward self disapproval, ruffled Amy and made her resolve to deliver her lecture without delay. I wish you'd do me the favor to rouse yourself a little, she said sharply. Do it for me, there's a dear girl. I could if I tried, and she looked as if she would like doing it in the most summery style. Try then. I give you leave, returned Laurie, who enjoyed having someone to tease after his long abstinence from his favorite pastime. You'd be angry in five minutes. I'm never angry with you. It takes two flints to make a fire. You are as cool and soft as snow. You don't know what I can do. Snow produces a glow and a tingle if applied rightly. Your indifference is half a expectation, and a good stirring up would prove it.  Regard me in the light of a husband, or a carpet, and beat till you are tired if that sort of exercise agrees with you. Being decidedly netled herself and longing to see him shake off the apathy that so altered him, Amy sharpened both tongue and pencil, and began, Flo and I have got a new name for you. It's Lazy Lawrence. How do you like it? She thought it would annoy him, but he only folded his arms into his head with an imperturbable. That's not bad. Thank you, ladies. Do you want to know what I honestly think of you? Pining to be told. Well, I despise you. If she had even said I hate you in a petulant or caquettish tone, he would have laughed and rather liked it. With the grave almost sad accent in her voice, he'd open his eyes and ask quickly, why, if you please, because with every chance for being good, useful, and happy, you are faulty, lazy, and miserable. Strong language, mademoiselle. If you like it, I'll go on. Pray do, it's quite interesting. I thought you'd find it so. Selfish people always like to talk about themselves. Am I selfish? The question slipped out involuntarily in a tone of surprise, for the one virtue on which he prided himself was generosity. Yes, very selfish, continued Amy in a calm, cool voice, twice as effective just then as an angry one. I'll show you how, for I've studied you while we were frolicking, and I'm not at all satisfied with you.  Isn't a fellow to have any pleasure after a four-year grind? You don't look as if you'd had much. At any rate, you are none the better for it, as far as I can see. I said when we first met that you had improved. Now I take it all back, for I don't think you have so nice as when I left you at home. You've grown abominably lazy.  You are content to be petted and admired by silly people instead of being loved and respected by wise ones. With money, talent, position, health, and beauty, ah, you like that old vanity. But it's the truth, so I can't help saying it, with all these splendid things to use and enjoy. You can buy nothing to do but doddle, and instead of being the man you ought to be, you are only, there she stopped, with a look that had both pain and pity in it. St. Lawrence on a gridiron, added Laurie, blandly finishing the sentence. The lecture began to take effect. There was a wide awake sparkle in his eyes now, and a half angry, half injured expression replaced the former indifference. I suppose you'd take it so. You men tell us we are angels and say we can make you what we will.  Amy spoke bitterly and turned her back on the exasperating martyr at her feet. In a minute, a hand came down over the page so that she could not draw, and Laurie's voice said with a drawl imitation of a penitent child. I will be good. Oh, I will be good. But Amy did not laugh, for she was an earnest and tapping on the outspread hand with her pencil, said soberly. Artnie was shamed of a hand like that. It's as soft and white as a woman's, and loves as if it never did anything but wear juvans, vest gloves, and pick flowers for ladies. You were not a dandy thing, Heaven, so I'm glad to see there are no diamonds or big seal rings on it. Only the little one Joe gave you so long ago. Dear soul, I wish she was here to help me. So do I. The hand vanished suddenly as it came, and there was energy enough in the echo of her wish to suit even Amy.  She only saw his chest rise and fall, with a long breath that might have been a sigh, and the hand that wore the ring nestled down into the grass as if to hide something too precious or too tender to be spoken of. All in a minute various hints and trifles assumed shape and significance in Amy's mind, and told her what her sister never had confided to her. She remembered that Laurie never spoke voluntarily of Joe. She recalled the shadow on his face just now, the change in his character, and the wearing of the little old ring which was no ornament to a handsome hand. Girls are quick to read such signs and feel their eloquence. Amy had fancied that perhaps love trouble was at the bottom of the alteration, and now she was sure of it. Her keen eyes filled, and when she spoke again it was in a voice that could be beautifully soft and kind when she chose to make it so. I know I have no right to talk so to you, Laurie, and if you weren't the sweetest tempered fellow in the world you'd be angry with me. But we are all so fond and proud of you I couldn't bear to think they should be disappointed in you at home, as I have been, though perhaps they would understand the change better than I do. And I think they would, came from under the hat in a grim tone, quite as touching as the broken one. They ought to have told me, and not let me go blundering and scolding when I should have been more kind and patient than ever. I never did like that miss Randall, and now I hate her. Said Artful Amy, wishing to be sure of her facts this time. Hang this, Randall. And Laurie knocked the hat off his face with a look that left no doubt of his sentiments toward that young lady. I beg pardon, I thought. There she paused diplomatically. No, you didn't. You knew perfectly well I never cared for anyone but Joe. Laurie said in his old, impetuous tone and turned his face away as he spoke. I did think so, but as they never said anything about it, and you came away, I suppose there was mistaken. And Joe wouldn't be kind to you? Why, I was sure she loved you dearly. She was kind, but not in the right way. And it's lucky for her she didn't love me, if I'm the good-for-nothing fellow you think me. It's her fault though, and you may tell her so. The hard-bitter look came back again as he said that, and it troubled Amy, for she did not know what balm to apply. I was wrong, I didn't know. I'm very sorry I was so cross, but I can't help wishing you'd bear it better, Teddy dear. Joe, that's her name for me. And Laurie put up his hand with a quick gesture to stop the words spoken in Joe's half-kind, half-approachful tone. Wait till you've tried it yourself, he added in a low voice as he pulled up the grass by the handful. I'd take it manfully and be respected if I couldn't be loved, said Amy, with the decision of one who knew nothing about it. Now, Laurie flattered himself that he had borne it remarkably well, making no moan, asking no sympathy, and taking his trouble away to live it down alone. Amy's lecture put the matter in a new light, and for the first time it did look weak and selfish to lose heart at the first failure, and shut himself up in moody indifference. He felt as if suddenly shaken out of a pensive dream, and found it impossible to go to sleep again. Presently, he sat up and asked slowly, do you think Joe would despise me as you do? Yes, if she saw you now.  Why don't you do something splendid and make her love you? I did my best, but it was no use. Graduating well, you mean. That was no more than you want to have done, for your grandfather's sake. It would have been shameful to fail after spending so much time and money when everyone knew that you could do well. I did fail, say what you will, for Joe wouldn't love me. He began, Laurie, leaning his head on his hand and despondent attitude. No, you didn't, and you'll say so in the end, or did you good and prove that you could do something if you tried? If you'd only said about another task of some sort, you'd soon be your hearty, happy self again and forget your trouble. That's impossible. Try it and see. You needn't shrug your shoulders and think much she knows about such things. I don't pretend to be wise, but I am observing. And I see a great deal more than you'd imagine. I'm interested in other people's experiences and inconsistencies. And though I can't explain, I remember and use them for my own benefit.  There, I won't lecture anymore, for I know you'll wake up and be a man in spite of that hard-hearted girl. Neither spoke for several minutes. Laurie sat turning the little ring on his finger, and Amy put the last touches to the hasty sketch she had been working at while she talked. Presently, she put it on his knee, nearly saying, how do you like that? He looked, and then he smiled, as he could not well help doing. Here it was capital done, the long, lazy figure on the grass with listless face, half-shut eyes, and one hand holding a cigar from which came a little wreath of smoke that encircled the dreamer's head. How well you draw, he said, with a genuine surprise and pleasure in her skill, adding with a half-lap. Yes, that's me. As you are, this is as you were. And Amy laid another sketch beside the one he held. It was not nearly so well done, but there was a life and spirit in it which atoned for many faults, and it recalled the past so vividly that a sudden change swept over the young man's face as he looked. Only a rough sketch of Laurie taming a horse, hat and coat were off, and every line of the active figure, resolute face, and commanding attitude was full of energy and meaning. The handsome brute, just subdued, stood arching his neck under the tightly drawn rain, with one foot impatiently pawing the ground and ears pricked up as if listening for the voice that had mastered him. In the ruffled mane, the rider's breezy hair and erect attitude, there was a suggestion of suddenly arrested motion, of strength, courage, and youthful buoyancy that contrasted sharply with the supine grace of the Dolce Farniante sketch. Laurie said nothing, but as his eye went from one to the other, Amy saw him flush up and fold his lips together as if he read and accepted the little lesson she had given him. That satisfied her, and without wanting for him to speak, she said in her sprightly way, don't you remember the day you played Rary with Puck and we all abdued on? Meg and Beth were frightened, but Joe clapped and pranced and I sat on the fence and drew you. I found that sketch in my portfolio the other day, touched it up and kept it to show you. Much obliged. You've improved immensely since then, and I can congratulate you. May I venture to suggest, in a honeymoon paradise that five o'clock is the dinner hour at your hotel? Laurie Rose, as he spoke, returned the pictures with a smile and a bow, and looked at his watch as if to remind her that even more lectures should have an end. He tried to resume his former easy and different air, but it was an affectation now, for the rousing had been more ephacious than he would confess. Amy felt a shade of coldness in his manner and said to herself, now I've offended him. Well, if it doesn't go, then I'm glad if it makes him hate me, I'm sorry. But it's true, and I can't take back a word of it. They laughed and chatted all the way home, and little Baptiste up behind thought that Monsieur and Mademoiselle were in charming spirits, but both felt ill at ease. The friendly frankness was disturbed, the sunshine had a shadow over it, and despite their apparent gait, there was a secret discontent in the heart of each. Shall we see you this evening, mon frère? asked Amy as they parted at her aunt's door. Unfortunately I have an engagement, au revoir Mademoiselle, and Laurie bent as if to kiss her hand in the foreign fashion, which became him better than many men. Something in his face made Amy say quickly and warmly, no, be yourself with me, Laurie, and part in the good old way. I'd rather have a hearty English handshake than all the sentimental salutations in France. Goodbye, dear. Now, with these words uttered in the tone she liked, Laurie left her after a handshake almost painful in its hardiness. Next morning, instead of the usual call, Amy received a note which made her smile at the beginning and sigh at the end. My dear mentor, please make my adieu's to your aunt and exult within yourself, for lazy Lawrence has gone to his grandpa, like the best of boys. A pleasant winter to you and may the gods grant you a blissful honeymoon at Velrosa. I think Fred would be benefited by a rouser. Tell him so with my congratulations. Yours gratefully, Telemachus. Good boy, I'm glad he's gone, said Amy, with an approving smile. The next minute her face fell as she glanced about the empty room, adding, with an involuntary sigh, yes, I am glad, but how I shall miss him. End of chapter 39, recording by Dario Labuthna. Chapter 40 of Little Women This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Lindsay Anderson. Little Women by Louisa May Alcott. Chapter 40 The Valley of the Shadow When the first bitterness was over, the family accepted the inevitable and tried to bear it cheerfully, helping one another by the increased affection which comes to bind households tenderly together in times of trouble. They put away their grief, and each did his or her part toward making that last year a happy one. The pleasantest room in the house was set apart for Beth, and in it was gathered everything that she most loved, flowers, pictures, her piano, the little work table, and the beloved pussies. Others' best books found their way there, Mother's Easy Chair, Joe's Desk, Amy's Finest Sketches, and every day Meg brought her babies on a loving pilgrimage to make sunshine for Auntie Beth. John quietly set apart a little son that he might enjoy the pleasure of keeping the invalid supplied with the fruit she loved and longed for. Old Hannah never wearied of concocting dainty dishes to tempt a capricious appetite, dropping tears as she worked, and from across the sea came little gifts and cheerful letters, seeming to bring breaths of warmth and fragrance from lands that know no winter. Here cherished like a household saint in its shrine, sat Beth, tranquil and busy as ever, for nothing could change the sweet unselfish nature, and even while preparing to leave life, she tried to make it happier for those who should remain behind. The feeble fingers were never idle, and one of her pleasures was to make little things for the school children passing to and fro, to drop a pair of mittens from her window for a pair of purple hands, a needle-book for some small mother of many dolls, pen wipers for young penmen toiling through forests of pothooks, scrapbooks for picture-loving eyes and all manner of pleasant devices, till the reluctant climbers at the ladder of learning found their way strewn with flowers, as it were, and came to regard the gentle giver as a sort of fairy godmother, who sat above there and showered gifts miraculously suited to their tastes and needs.  The first few months were very happy ones, and Beth often used to look round and say, How beautiful this is! As they all sat together in her sunny room, the babies kicking and crowing on the floor, mother and sisters working near, and father reading in his pleasant voice from the wise old books which seemed rich in good and comfortable words, as applicable now as when written centuries ago a little chapel where paternal priest taught his flock the hard lessons all must learn, trying to show them that hope can comfort love and faith make resignation possible. Simple sermons that went straight to the souls of those who listened, for the father's heart was in the minister's religion, and the frequent falter in the voice gave a double eloquence to the words he spoke or read. It was well for all that this peaceful time was given them as preparation for the sad hours to come, for by and by Beth said that the needle was so heavy and put it down forever. Talking, wearied her, faces troubled her, pain claimed her for its own, and her tranquil spirit was sorrowfully perturbed by the ills that vexed her feeble flesh. Ah, me, such heavy days, such long, long nights, such aching hearts and imploring prayers, when those who loved her best were forced to see the thin hands stretched out to them beseechingly, to hear the bitter cry, help me, help me, and to feel that there was no help. A sad eclipse of the serene soul, a sharp struggle of the young life with death, but both were mercifully brief, and then the natural rebellion over, the old peace returned more beautiful than ever. With the wreck of her frail body, Beth's soul grew strong, and though she said little, those about her felt that she was ready, saw that the first pilgrim called was likewise the fittest, and waited with her on the shore, trying to see the shining ones coming to receive her when she crossed the river. Joe never left her for an hour since Beth had said, I feel stronger when you are here. She slept on a couch in the room, waking often to renew the fire, to feed, lift, or wait upon the patient creature who seldom asked for anything, and tried not to be a trouble. All day she haunted the room, jealous of any other nurse, and prouder of being chosen than of any honor her life ever brought her. Precious and helpful hours to Joe, for now her heart received the teaching that it needed. Lessons and patience were so sweetly taught her that she could not fail to learn them. Charity for all, the lovely spirit that can forgive and truly forget unkindness, the loyalty to duty that makes the hardest easy, and the sincere faith that fears nothing but trusts undoubtedly. Often when she woke, Joe found Beth reading in her well-worn little book, heard her singing softly to beguile the sleepless night, or saw her lean her face upon her hands while slow tears dropped through the transparent fingers, and Joe would lie watching her with thoughts too deep for tears, feeling that Beth, in her simple, unselfish way, was trying to wean herself from the dear old life, and fit herself for the life to come by sacred words of comfort, quiet prayers, and the music she loved so well. Seeing this did more for Joe than the wisest sermons, the saintliest hymns, the most fervent prayers that any voice could utter, for with eyes made clear by many tears, and a heart softened by the tenderest sorrow, she recognized the beauty of her sister's life, uneventful, unambitious, yet full of the genuine virtues which smell sweet and blossom in the dust, the self- forgetfulness that makes the humblest on earth remembered soonest in heaven, the true success which is possible to all. One night when Beth looked among the books upon her table to find something to make her forget the mortal weariness that was almost as hard to bear as pain, as she turned the leaves of her old favorite Pilgrim's Progress, she found a little paper scribbled over in Joe's hand. The name caught her eye, and the blurred look of the lines made her sure that tears had fallen on it. Poor Joe! She's fast asleep so I won't wake her to ask leave. She shows me all her things and I don't think she'll mind if I look at this, thought Beth, with a glance at her sister, who lay on the rug with the tongs beside her, ready to wake up the minute the log fell apart. My Beth, sitting patient in the shadow till the blessed light shall come, a serene and saintly presence sanctifies our troubled home. Earthly joys and hopes and sorrows break like ripples on the strand of the deep and solemn river where her willing feet now stand. O my sister, passing from me out of human care and strife, leave me as a gift those virtues which have beautified your life. Dear bequeath me that great patience which has power to sustain a cheerful, uncomplaining spirit in its prison-house of pain. Give me, for I need it sorely, of that courage, wise and sweet, which has made the path of duty green beneath your willing feet. Give me that unselfish nature that with charity divine can pardon wrong for love's dear sake. Meek heart, forgive me mine. Thus our parting daily loses something of its bitter pain, and while learning this hard lesson my great loss becomes my gain. For the touch of grief will render my wild nature more serene. Give to life new aspirations, a new trust in the unseen. Henceforth safe across the river I shall see for evermore a beloved household spirit waiting for me on the shore. Hope and faith born of my sorrow guardian angels shall become, this sister, gone before me, by their hands shall leave me home. Blurred and blotted, faulty and feeble as the lines were, they brought a look of inexpressible comfort to Beth's face. For her one regret had been that she had done so little, and this seemed to assure her that her life had not been useless, that her death would not bring the despair she feared. As she sat with the paper folded between her hands, the charred log fell asunder. Joe started up, revived the blaze, and crept to the bedside, hoping Beth slept. Not asleep, but so happy, dear. See, I found this in Reddit. I knew you wouldn't care. Have I been all that to you, Joe? She asked with wistful, humble earnestness. Oh, Beth, so much, so much! And Joe's head went down upon the pillow beside her sister's. Then I don't feel as if I'd wasted my life. I'm not so good as you make me, but I have tried to do right. And now, when it's too late to begin even to do better, it's such a comfort to know that someone loves me so much, and feels as if I'd helped them. More than any one in the world, Beth, I used to think I couldn't let you go, but I'm learning to feel that I don't lose you, and that you'll be more to me than ever, and death can't part us, though it seems to. I know it cannot, and I don't fear it any longer, for I'm sure I shall be your Beth still, to love and help you more than ever.  They will turn to you, don't fail them. And if it's hard to work alone, remember that I don't forget you, and that you'll be happier in doing that than writing splendid books or seeing all the world, for love is the only thing that we can carry with us when we go, and it makes the end so easy. I'll try, Beth. And then and there Joe renounced her old ambition, pledged herself to a new and better one, acknowledging the poverty of other desires, and feeling the blessed solace of a belief in the immortality of love. So the spring days came and went, the sky grew clearer, the earth greener, the flowers were up fairly early, and the birds came back in time to say goodbye to Beth, who, like a tired but trustful child, clung to the hands that had led her all her life, as mother and father guided her tenderly through the valley of the shadow, and gave her up to God. Seldom, except in books, do the dying utter memorable words, see visions or depart with beautified countenances, and those who have sped many parting souls know that to most the end comes as naturally and simply at sleep. As Beth had hoped, the tide went out easily, and in the dark hour before dawn, on the bosom where she had drawn her first breath, she quietly drew her last, with no farewell but one loving look, one little sigh. With tears and prayers and tender hands, mother and sisters made her ready for the long sleep that pain would never mar again.  When morning came, for the first time in many months, the fire was out, Joe's place was empty, and the room was very still. But a bird sang glithly on a budding bough close by.  Chapter 41 of Little Women This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Little Women by Louisa Mae Alcott. Chapter 41 Learning to Forget Amy's lecture did Laurie good, though of course he did not own it till long afterward. Men seldom do, for when women are the advisors, the lords of creation don't take the advice till they have persuaded themselves that it is just what they intended to do. Then they act upon it, and if it succeeds, they give the weaker vessel half the credit of it. If it fails, they generously give her the whole. Laurie went back to his grandfather and was so dutifully devoted for several weeks that the old gentleman declared the climate of Nice had improved him wonderfully, and he had better try it again. There was nothing the young gentleman would have liked better, but elephants could not have dragged him back after the scolding he had received. Pride forbid, and whenever the longing grew very strong, he fortified his resolution by repeating the words that had made the deepest impression. I despise you. Go and do something splendid that will make her love you. Laurie turned the matter over in his mind so often that he soon brought himself to confess that he had been selfish and lazy. But then when a man has a great sorrow, he should be indulged in all sorts of vagaries till he has lived it down. He felt that his blighted affections were quite dead now, and though he should never cease to be a faithful mourner, there was no occasion to wear his weeds ostentatiously. Joe wouldn't love him, but he might make her respect and admire him by doing something which should prove that a girl's no had not spoiled his life. He had always meant to do something, and Amy's advice was quite unnecessary. He had only been waiting till the aforesaid blighted affections were decently interred. That being done, he felt that he was ready to hide his stricken heart and still toil on. As Goethe, when he had a joy or a grief put it into a song, so Laurie resolved to embalm his love sorrow in music and to compose a requiem, which should harrow up Joe's soul and melt the heart of every hero. Therefore, the next time the old gentleman found him getting restless and moody and ordered him off, he went to Vienna, where he had musical friends, and fell to work with the firm determination to distinguish himself. But whether the sorrow was too vast to be embodied in music, or music too ethereal to uplift a mortal woe, he soon discovered that the requiem was beyond him just at present. It was evident that his mind was not in working order yet, and his ideas needed clarifying, for often in the middle of a plaintive strain, he would find himself humming a dancing tune that vividly recalled the Christmas ball at Nice, especially the Stout Frenchman, and put an effectual stop to the tragic composition for the time being. Then he tried an opera, for nothing seemed impossible in the beginning, but here, again, unforeseen difficulties beset him. He wanted Joe for his heroine, and called upon his memory to supply him with tender recollections and romantic visions of his love. But memory turned traitor, and as if possessed by the perverse spirit of the girl, would only recall Joe's oddities, faults, and freaks, would only show her in the most unsentimental aspects, beating mats with her head tied up in a bandana, barricading herself with a sofa pillow, or throwing cold water over his passion a la gummage, and an irresistible laugh spoiled the pensive picture he was endeavouring to paint. Joe wouldn't be put into the opera at any price, and he had to give her up with a bless that girl, what a torment she is, and a clutch at his hair as became a distracted composer. When he looked about him for another, and a less intractable damsel to immortalise in melody, memory produced one with the most obliging readiness. This phantom wore many faces, but it always had golden hair, was enveloped in a diaphanous cloud, and floated airily before his mind's eye in a pleasing chaos of roses, peacocks, white ponies, and blue ribbons. He did not give the complacent wraith any name, but he took her for his heroine, and grew quite fond of her, as well he might, for he gifted her with every gift and grace under the sun, and escorted her unscathed through trials which would have annihilated any mortal woman. Thanks to this inspiration, he got unswimmingly for a time, but gradually the work lost its charm, and he forgot to compose, while he sat musing, pen in hand, or roamed about the gay city to get some new ideas and refresh his mind, which seemed to be in a somewhat unsettled state that winter. He did not do much, but he thought a great deal, and was conscious of a change of some sort going on in spite of himself. It's genius simmering, perhaps. I'll let it simmer and see what comes of it, he said, with a secret suspicion all the while that it wasn't genius, but something far more common. Whatever it was, it simmered to some purpose, for he grew more and more discontented with his disultory life, began to long for some real and earnest work to go at, soul and body, and finally came to the wise conclusion that everyone who loved music was not a composer. Returning from one of Mozart's grand operas, splendidly performed at the Royal Theatre, he looked over his own, played a few of the best parts, sat staring at the busts of Mendelssohn, Beethoven, and Bach, who stared benignly back again. Then suddenly he tore up his music sheets one by one, and as the last fluttered out of his hand he said soberly to himself, she's right, talent isn't genius and you can't make it so. That music has taken the vanity out of me as Rome took it out of her and I won't be a humbug any longer. Now, what shall I do? That seemed a hard question to answer, and Laurie began to wish he had to work for his daily bread. Now, if ever, occurred an eligible opportunity for going to the devil, as he once forcibly expressed it, for he had plenty of money and nothing to do, and Satan is proverbially fond of providing employment for full and idle hands. The poor fellow had temptations enough from without and from within, but he withstood them pretty well, for as much as he valued liberty, he valued good faith and confidence more, so he's promised to his grandfather and his desire to be able to look honestly into the eyes of the women who loved him and say all's well, kept him safe and steady. Very likely some Mrs. Grundy will observe, I don't believe it, boys will be boys, young men must sew their wild oats and women must not expect miracles. I dare say you don't Mrs. Grundy, but it's true nevertheless. Women work a good many miracles, and I have a persuasion that they may perform even that of raising the standard of manhood by refusing to echo such sayings. Let the boys be boys the longer the better, and let the young men sew their wild oats if they must, but mothers, sisters, and friends may help to make the crop a small one and keep many tears from spoiling the harvest by believing and showing that they believe in the possibility of loyalty to the virtues which make men manliest in good women's eyes. If it is a feminine delusion, leave us to enjoy it while we may, for without it half the beauty and the romance of life is lost, and sorrowful forebodings would embitter all our hopes of the brave, tender-hearted little lads who still love their mothers better than themselves and are not ashamed to own it. Laurie thought that the task of forgetting his love for Joe would absorb all his powers for years, but to his great surprise he discovered it grew easier every day. He refused to believe it at first, got angry with himself and couldn't understand it, but these hearts of ours are curious and contrary things, and time and nature work their will in spite of us. Laurie's heart wouldn't ache. The wound persisted in healing with a rapidity that astonished him, and instead of trying to forget, he found himself trying to remember. He had not foreseen this turn of affairs and was not prepared for it.  He carefully stirred up the embers of his lost love, but they refused to burst into ablaze. There was only a comfortable glow that warmed and did him good without putting him into a fever, and he was reluctantly obliged to confess that the boyish passion was slowly subsiding into a more tranquil sentiment, very tender, a little sad and resentful still, but that was sure to pass away in time, leaving a brotherly affection which would last unbroken to the end. As the word brotherly passed through his mind in one of his reveries, he smiled and glanced up at the picture of Mozart that was before him. Well, he was a happy man, and when he couldn't have one sister, he took the other and was happy. Laurie did not utter the words, but he thought them, and the next instant kissed the little old ring, saying to himself, no, I won't, I haven't forgotten, I never can, I'll try again, and if that fails, why then, leaving his sentence unfinished, he seized pen and paper and wrote to Joe, telling her that he could not settle to anything while there was the least hope of her changing her mind. Couldn't she, wouldn't she, and let him come home and be happy? While waiting for an answer, he did nothing, but he did it energetically, for he was in a fever of impatience. It came at last, and settled his mind effectually on one point, for Joe decidedly couldn't and wouldn't. She was wrapped up in Beth, and never wished to hear the word love again. Then she begged him to be happy with somebody else, but always keep a little corner of his heart for his loving sister Joe. In a post script, she desired him not to tell Amy that Beth was worse. She was coming home in the spring, and there was no need of saddening the remainder of her stay. That would be time enough, please God, but Laurie must write to her often and not let her feel lonely, homesick, or anxious. So I will at once, poor little girl. It will be a sad going home for her, I'm afraid. And Laurie opened his desk as if writing to Amy had been the proper conclusion of the sentence left unfinished some weeks before. But he did not write the letter that day, for as he rummaged out his best paper, he came across something which changed his purpose. Tumbling about in one part of the desk, among bills, passports, and business documents of various kinds, were several of Joe's letters, and in another compartment were three notes from Amy, carefully tied up with one of her blue ribbons, and sweetly suggestive of the little dead roses put away inside. With a half-repentant, half-amused expression, Laurie gathered up all Joe's letters, smoothed, folded, and put them neatly into a small drawer of the desk, stood a minute turning the ring thoughtfully on his finger, then slowly drew it off, laid it with the letters, locked the drawer, and went out to hear high mass at St. Stephens, feeling as if there had been a funeral, and though not overwhelmed with affliction, this seemed a more proper way to spend the rest of the day than in writing letters to charming young ladies. The letter went very soon, however, and was promptly answered, for Amy was homesick and confessed it in the most delightfully confiding manner. The correspondence flourished famously, and letters flew to and fro with unfailing regularity all through the early spring. Laurie sold his busts, made aliments of his opera, and went back to Paris, hoping somebody would arrive before long. He wanted desperately to go to Nice, but would not till he was asked, and Amy would not ask him, for just then she was having little experiences of her own, which made her rather wish to avoid the quizzical eyes of our boy. Fred Vaughn had returned, and put the question to which she had once decided to answer, yes thank you, but now she said, no thank you, kindly but steadily, for when the time came her courage failed her, and she found that something more than money and position was needed to satisfy the new longing that filled her heart so full of tender hopes and fears. The words, Fred is a good fellow, but not at all the man I fancied you would ever like, and Laurie's face when he uttered them kept returning to her as pertinaciously as her own did when she said in look, if not in words, I shall marry for money. It troubled her to remember that now. She wished you could take it back, it sounded so unwombly.  She was so glad he didn't hate her for the dreadful things she said, but took them so beautifully and was kinder than ever. His letters were such a comfort, for the home letters were very irregular and not half so satisfactory as his when they did come. It was not only a pleasure, but a duty to answer them, for the poor fellow was forlorn and needed petting, since Jo persisted in being stony-hearted. She ought to have made an effort and tried to love him. It couldn't be very hard, many people would be proud and glad to have such a dear boy care for them. But Jo never would act like other girls, so there was nothing to do but be very kind and treat him like a brother. If all brothers were treated as well as Laurie was at this period, they would be a much happier race of beings than they are. Amy never lectured now. She asked his opinion on all subjects. She was interested in everything he did, made charming little presents for him, and sent him two letters a week full of lively gossip, sisterly confidences, and captivating sketches of the lovely scenes about her. As few brothers are complimented by having their letters carried about in their sister's pockets, read and reread diligently, cried over when short, kissed when long, and treasured carefully, we will not hint that Amy did any of these fond and foolish things. But she certainly did grow a little pale and pensive that spring, lost much of her relish for society, and went out sketching alone a good deal. She never had much to show when she came home, but was studying nature, I dare say, while she sat for hours, with her hands folded on the terrace at Valroza, or absently sketched any fancy that occurred to her, a stalwart night carved on a tomb, a young man asleep in the grass with his hat over his eyes, or a curly-haired girl in gorgeous array, promenading down a ballroom on the arm of a tall gentleman, both faces being left to blur, according to the last fashion in art, which was safe, but not altogether satisfactory. Her aunt thought that she regretted her answer to Fred, and finding denials useless and explanations impossible, Amy left her to think what she liked, taking care that Laurie should know that Fred had gone to Egypt. That was all, but he understood it, and looked relieved as he said to himself with a venerable air. I was sure she would think better of it, poor old fellow, I've been through it all, and I can sympathize. With that he heaved a great sigh, and then, as if he had discharged his duty to the past, put his feet up on the sofa, and enjoyed Amy's letter luxuriously. While these changes were going on abroad, trouble had come at home, but the letter telling Beth was failing never reached Amy, and when the next found her at Vivée, for the heat had driven them from Nice in May, and they had travelled slowly to Switzerland by way of Genoa and the Italian lakes. She bore it very well, and quietly submitted to the family decree that she should not shorten her visit, for since it was too late to say goodbye to Beth, she'd better stay, and let absence soften her sorrow. But her heart was very heavy. She longed to be at home, and every day looked wistfully across the lake, waiting for Lurie to come and comfort her. He did come very soon, for the same mail brought letters to them both, but he was in Germany, and it took some days to reach him. The moment he read it, he packed his knapsack, batted her to his fellow pedestrians, and was off to keep his promise, with a heart full of joy and sorrow, hope and suspense. He knew Vivée well, and as soon as the boat touched the little key, he hurried along the shore to La Tour, where the carols were living en pension. The garçon was in despair that the whole family had gone to take a promenade on the lake, but no, the blonde man Moselle might be in the Chateau garden, if Monsieur would give himself the pain of sitting down, a flash of time should present her. But Monsieur could not wait, even a flash of time, and in the middle of the speech departed to find Moselle himself. A pleasant old garden on the borders of the lovely lake, with chestnuts rustling overhead, ivy climbing everywhere, and the black shadow of the tower falling far across the sunny water. At one corner of the wide low wall was a seat, and here Amy often came to read or work, or console herself with the beauty all around her. She was sitting here that day, leaning her head on her hand, with a homesick heart and heavy eyes, thinking of Beth, and wondering why Laurie did not come. She did not hear him cross the courtyard beyond, nor see him pause in the archway that led from the subterranean path into the garden. He stood a minute, looking at her with new eyes, seeing what no one had ever seen before, the tender side of Amy's character.  If he had any doubts about the reception she would give him, they were set at rest the minute she looked up and saw him, for dropping everything she ran to him, exclaiming in a tone of unmistakable love and longing, oh Laurie, Laurie, I knew you'd come to me. I think everything was said and settled then, for as they stood together quite silent for a moment, with the dark head bent down protectingly over the light one, Amy felt that no one could comfort and sustain her so well as Laurie, and Laurie decided that Amy was the only woman in the world who could fill Joe's place and make him happy. He did not tell her so, but she was not disappointed, for both felt the truth were satisfied and gladly left the rest to silence. In a minute Amy went back to her place, and while she dried her tears, Laurie gathered up the scattered papers, finding in the sight of sundry well-worn letters and suggestive sketches good omens for the future. As he sat down beside her, Amy felt shy again, and turned rosy red at the recollection of her impulsive greeting. I couldn't help it, I felt so lonely and sad and was so very glad to see you, it was such a surprise to look up and find you just as I was beginning to fear you wouldn't come, she said, trying in vain to speak quite naturally. I came the minute I heard. I wish I could say something to comfort you for the loss of dear little Beth, but I can only feel, and he could not get any further, for he too turned bashful all of a sudden, and did not quite know what to say. He longed to lay Amy's head down on his shoulder, and tell her to have a good cry, but he did not dare, so took her hand instead, and gave it a sympathetic squeeze that was better than words. You needn't say anything. This comforts me, she said softly. Beth is well and happy, and I mustn't wish her back, but I dread the going home, much as I long to see them all.  You needn't go right back, need you? Not if you want me, dear. I do so much. Aunt and Flo are very kind, but you seem like one of the family, and it would be so comfortable to have you for a little while. Amy spoke and looked so like a homesick child whose heart was full, that Laurie forgot his bashfulness all at once, and gave her just what she wanted, the petting she was used to, and the cheerful conversation she needed.  I'm going to take care of you, so don't cry any more, but come and walk about with me. The wind is too chilly for you to sit still, he said, in the half-curesing, half-commanding way that Amy liked, as he tied on her hat, drew her arm through his, and began to pace up and down the sunny walk under the new-leaved chestnuts. He felt more at ease upon his legs, and Amy found it pleasant to have a strong arm to lean upon, a familiar face to smile at her, and a kind voice to talk delightfully for her alone. The quaint old garden had sheltered many pairs of lovers, and seemed expressly made for them, so sunny and secluded was it, with nothing but the tower to overlook them, and the wide lake to carry away the echo of their words, as it rippled by below. For an hour this new pair walked and talked, or rested on the wall, enjoying the sweet influences which gave such a charm to time and place, and when an unromantic dinner bell warned them away, Amy felt as if she had left her burden of loneliness and sorrow behind her in the shadow garden. The moment Mrs. Carroll saw the girl's altered face, she was illuminated with a new idea, and exclaimed to herself, Now I understand it all, the child has been pining for young Lawrence, bless my heart I never thought of such a thing. With praiseworthy discretion, the good lady said nothing, and betrayed no sign of enlightenment, but cordially urged Laurie to stay, and begged Amy to enjoy his society, for it would do her more good than so much solitude. Amy was a model of docility, and as her aunt was a good deal occupied with flow, she was left to entertain her friend, and did it with more than her usual success. At Nice, Laurie had lounged, and Amy had scolded. At Vive, Laurie was never idle, but always walking, riding, boating, or studying in the most energetic manner, while Amy admired everything he did, and followed his example as far and as fast as she could. He said the change was owing to the climate, and she did not contradict him, being glad of a like excuse for her own recovered health and spirits. The invigorating air did them both good, and much exercise worked wholesome changes in minds, as well as bodies. They seemed to get clearer views of life and duty up there among the everlasting hills. The fresh winds blew away desponding doubts, delusive fancies, and moody mists. The warm spring sunshine brought out all sorts of aspiring ideas, tender hopes, and happy thoughts. The lakes seemed to wash away the troubles of the past, and the grand old mountains to look benignly down upon them saying, little children, love one another. In spite of the new sorrow, it was a very happy time, so happy that Laurie could not bear to disturb it by a word. It took him a little while to recover from his surprise at the cure of his first, and as he had firmly believed, his last and only love. He consoled himself for the seeming disloyalty by the thought that Joe's sister was almost the same as Joe's self, and the conviction that it would have been impossible to love any woman but Amy so soon and so well. His first wooing had been of the tempestuous order, and he looked back upon it as if through a long vista of years, with a feeling of compassion blended with regret. He was not ashamed of it, but put it away as one of the bittersweet experiences of his life, for which he could be grateful when the pain was over. His second wooing, he resolved, should be as calm and simple as possible. There was no need of having a scene, hardly any need of telling Amy that he loved her, she knew it without words and had given him his answer long ago. It all came about so naturally that no one could complain, and he knew that everybody would be pleased, even Joe. But when our first little passion has been crushed, we are apt to be wary and slow in making a second trial, so Laura let the days pass, enjoying every hour, and leaving to chance the utterance of the word that would put an end to the first and sweetest part of his new romance. He had rather imagined that the denouement would take place in the Chateau Garden by moonlight, and in the most graceful and decorous manner, but it turned out exactly the reverse, for the matter was settled on the lake, at noon day, in a few blunt words. They had been floating about all morning, from Gloomy's St. Gengorff to Sonny Montreux, with the Alpes of Savoy on one side, Mont Saint Bernard and the Dendu Midi on the other, Pretty Vivée in the valley, and Lausanne upon the hill beyond, a cloudless blue sky overhead, and the bluer lake below dotted with the picturesque boats that look like white-winged gulls. They had been talking of Bonnevard as they glided past Chilon, and of Rousseau as they looked up at Clarence, where he wrote his Eloise. Neither had read it, but they knew it was a love story, and each privately wondered if it was half as interesting as their own. Amy had been dabbling her hand in the water during the little pause that fell between them, and when she looked up, Laurie was leaning on his oars with an expression in his eyes that made her say hastily, merely for the sake of saying something, you must be tired, rest a little and let me row, it will do me good, for since you came I have been altogether lazy and luxurious. I'm not tired, but you may take an oar if you like. There's room enough, though I have to sit nearly in the middle, else the boat won't trim, returned Laurie, as if he rather liked the arrangement. Feeling that she had not mended matters much, Amy took the offered third of a seat, shook her hair over her face and accepted an oar. She rowed as well as she did many other things, and though she used both hands and Laurie but one, the oars kept time, and the boat went smoothly through the water. How well we pulled together, don't we? said Amy, who objected to silence just then. So well that I wish we might always pull in the same boat. Will you, Amy? Very tenderly. Yes, Laurie. Very low. Then they both stopped rowing, and unconsciously added a pretty little tableau of human love and happiness to the dissolving views reflected in the lake. End of Chapter 41 Chapter 42 of Little Women This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Little Women by Louisa May Alcott Chapter 42 All Alone It was easy to promise self-abnegation when self was wrapped up in another, and heart and soul were purified by a sweet example. But when the helpful voice was silent, the daily lesson over, the beloved presence gone, and nothing remained but loneliness and grief, then Jo found her promise very hard to keep. How could she comfort father and mother when her own heart ached with a ceaseless longing for her sister? How could she make the house cheerful when all its light and warmth and beauty seemed to have deserted it when Beth left the old home for the new, and where in all the world could she find some useful happy work to do that would take the place of the loving service which had been its own reward?  Some people seemed to get all sunshine and some all shadow. It was not fair, for she tried more than Amy to be good, but never got any reward, only disappointment, trouble, and hard work. Poor Jo, these were dark days to her, for something like despair came over her when she thought of spending all her life in that quiet house, devoted to humdrum cares, a few small pleasures, and the duty that never seemed to grow any easier. I can't do it! I wasn't meant for a life like this, and I know I shall break away and do something desperate if somebody doesn't come and help me, she said to herself, when her first efforts failed and she fell into the moody, miserable state of mind, which often comes when strong wills have to yield to the inevitable. But someone did come and help her, though Jo did not recognize her good angels at once, because they were familiar shapes and used the simple spells best fitted to poor humanity. Often she started up at night, thinking Beth called her, and when the sight of the little empty bed made her cry with a bitter cry of unsubmissive sorrow, oh Beth, come back, come back! She did not stretch out her yearning arms in vain. For as quick to hear her sobbing as she had been to hear her sister's faintest whisper, her mother came to comfort her, not with words only, but with the patient tenderness that soothed by a touch, tears that were mute reminders of a greater grief than Jo's, and broken whispers, more eloquent than prayers, because hopeful resignation went hand in hand with natural sorrow. Sacred moments, when heart talked to heart in the silence of the night, turning affliction to a blessing which chastened grief and strengthened love. Feeling this, Jo's burden seemed easier to bear, duty grew sweeter, and life looked more indurable seeing from the safe shelter of her mother's arms. When aching heart was a little comforted, troubled mind likewise found help. For one day she went to the study and leaning over the good gray head lifted to welcome her with a tranquil smile, she said very humbly, Father, talk to me as you did to Beth. I need it more than she did, for I'm all wrong. My dear, nothing can comfort me like this, he answered with a falter in his voice, and both arms round her, as if he too needed help and did not fear to ask for it. Then sitting in Beth's little chair close beside him, Jo told her troubles, the resentful sorrow for her loss, the fruitless efforts that discouraged her, the want of faith that made life look so dark, and all the sad bewilderment which we called despair. She gave him entire confidence, he gave her the help she needed, and both found consolation in the act. For the time had come when they could talk together, not only as father and daughter, but as man and woman, able and glad to serve each other with mutual sympathy, as well as mutual love. Happy, thoughtful times there in the old study which Jo called the Church of One Member, and from which she came with fresh courage, recovered cheerfulness and a more submissive spirit. For the parents who had taught one child to meet death without fear were trying now to teach another to accept life without despondency or distrust, and to use its beautiful opportunities with gratitude and power. Other helps had Jo, humble, wholesome duties and delights that would not be denied their part in serving her, and which she slowly learned to see and value. Brooms and dishclods never could be as distasteful as they once had been, for Beth had presided over both, and something of her housewifely spirit seemed to linger around the little mop and the old brush never thrown away. As she used them, Jo found herself humming the songs Beth used to hum, imitating Beth's orderly ways, and giving the little touches here and there that kept everything fresh and cozy, which was the first step toward making home happy, though she didn't know it till Hannah said with an approving squeeze of the hand, You thoughtful creeder, you're determined we shan't miss that dear lamb if you can help it. We don't say much, but we see it, and the Lord will bless you fort, say if he don't. As they sat sewing together, Jo discovered how much improved her sister Meg was, how well she could talk, how much she knew about good, womanly impulses, thoughts and feelings, how happy she was in husband and children, and how much they were all doing for each other. Marriage is an excellent thing, after all. I wonder if I should blossom out half as well as you have if I tried it. Always Powist and I should, said Jo, as she constructed a kite for Demi in the topsy-turvy nursery. It's just what you need to bring out the tender womanly half of your nature, Jo. You are like a chestnut burr, prickly outside, but silky soft within, and a sweet kernel, if only one can get at it.  Frost opens chestnut burrs, ma'am, and it takes a good shaking to bring them down. Boys go nutting, and I don't care to be begged by them, returned Jo, pasting away at the kite, which no wind that blows would ever carry up, for Daisy had tied herself on as a bob. Meg laughed, for she was glad to see a glimmer of Jo's old spirit. But she felt at her duty to enforce her opinion by every argument in her power, and the sisterly chats were not wasted, especially as two of Meg's most effective arguments were the babies, whom Jo loved tenderly. Grief is the best opener of some hearts, and Jo's was nearly ready for the beg. A little more sunshine to ripen the nut, than not a boy's impatient shake, but a man's hand reached up to pick it gently from the burr, and find the kernel sound and sweet. If she suspected this, she would have shut up tight and been more prickly than ever. Fortunately, she wasn't thinking about herself, so when the time came, down she dropped. Now, as she had been the heroine of a moral storybook, she ought, at this period of her life, to have become quite saintly, renounce the world, and gone about doing good in a mortified bonnet with tracts in her pocket. But, you see, Jo wasn't a heroine.  It's highly virtuous to say we'll be good, but we can't do it all at once, and it takes a long pull, a strong pull, and a pull all together before some of us even get our feet set in the right way. Jo had got so far, she was learning to do her duty, and to feel unhappy if she did not. But to do it cheerfully, ah, that was another thing. She had often said she wanted to do something splendid, no matter how hard, and now she had her wish, for what could be more beautiful than to devote her life to father and mother, trying to make home as happy to them as they had to her. And if difficulties were necessary to increase the splendor of the effort, what could be harder for a restless, ambitious girl than to give up her own hopes, plans, and desires, and cheerfully live for others? Providence had taken her at her word. Here was the task, not what she had expected, but better, because self had no part in it. Now could she do it? She decided that she would try, and in her first attempt she found the helps I have suggested. Still another was given her, and she took it, not as a reward, but as a comfort, as Christian took the refreshment afforded by the little arbor where he rested as he climbed the hill called difficulty. Why don't you write that always used to make you happy, said her mother once, when the desponding fit overshadowed Joe? I've no heart to write, and if I had, nobody cares for my things. We do. Write something for us, and never mind the rest of the world. Try it, dear. I'm sure it would do you good, and please us very much. Don't believe I can, but Joe got out her desk, and began to overhaul her half-finished manuscripts. An hour afterward her mother peeped in, and there she was, scratching away with her black pinafore on, and an absorbed expression which caused Mrs. March to smile and flip away, well pleased with the success of her suggestion. Joe never knew how it happened, but something got into that story that went straight to the hearts of those who read it, for when her family had laughed and cried over it, her father sent it, much against her will, to one of the popular magazines, and to her utter surprise it was not only paid for, but others requested. Letters from several persons whose praise was honour followed the appearance of the little story. Newspapers copied it, and strangers as well as friends admired it. For a small thing it was a great success, and Joe was more astonished than when her novel was commended and condemned all at once. I don't understand it. What can there be in a simple little story like that to make people praise it so, she said, quite bewildered. There is truth in it, Joe, that's the secret. Humour and pathos make it alive, and you have found your style at last. You wrote with no thoughts of fame and money, and put your heart into it, my daughter. You have had the bitter. Now comes the sweet. Do your best and grow as happy as we are in your success. If there is anything good or true in what I write, it isn't mine. I owe it all to you and mother and Beth, said Joe, more touched by her father's words than by any amount of praise from the world. So taught by love and sorrow, Joe wrote her little stories and sent them away to make friends for themselves and her, finding it a very charitable world to such humble wanderers. For they were kindly welcomed, and sent home comfortable tokens to their mother, like dutiful children whom good fortune overtakes. When Amy and Laurie wrote of their engagement, Mrs. March feared that Joe would find it difficult to rejoice over it. But her fears were soon set at rest. For though Joe looked grave at first, she took it very quietly, and was full of hopes and plans for the children before she read the letter twice. It was a sort of written duet wherein each glorified the other in loverlike fashion, very pleasant to read and satisfactory to think of, for no one had any objection to make. You like it, mother, said Joe, as they laid down the closely written sheets and looked at one another? Yes, I hoped it would be so. Ever since Amy wrote that she had refused Fred, I felt sure then that something better than what you call the mercenary spirit had come over her. And a hint here and there in her letters made me suspect that love and Laurie would win the day. How sharp you are, Marmy, and how silent! You never said a word to me. Mothers have need of sharp eyes and discreet tongues when they have girls to manage. I was half afraid to put the idea into your head lest you should write and congratulate them before the thing was settled. I'm not the scatterbrain I was. You may trust me. I'm sober and sensible enough for anyone's confidence now.  Only, I fancied it might pain you to learn that your teddy loved someone else. Now, mother, did you really think I could be so silly and selfish after I'd refused his love when it was freshest, if not best? I knew you were sincere then, Joe, but lately I've thought that if he came back and asked again, you might perhaps feel like giving another answer. Forgive me, dear. I can't help seeing that you are very lonely, and sometimes there is a hungry look in your eyes that goes to my heart. So I fancied that your boy might fill the empty place if he tried now. No, mother, it is better as it is, and I'm glad Amy has learned to love him. But you are right in one thing. I am lonely, and perhaps if Teddy had tried again, I might have said yes, not because I love him anymore, but because I care more to be loved than when he went away. I'm glad of that, Joe, for it shows that you are getting on. There are plenty to love you, so try to be satisfied with father and mother, sisters and brothers, friends and babies, till the best lover of all comes to give you your reward. Mothers are the best lovers in the world, but I don't mind whispering to Marmy that I'd like to try all kinds. It's very curious, but the more I try to satisfy myself with all sorts of natural affections, the more I seem to want. I know idea hearts could take in so many. Mine is so elastic it never seems full now, and I used to be quite contented with my family. I don't understand it. I do, and Mrs. March smiled her wise smile as Joe turned back the leaves to read what Amy said of Laurie. It is so beautiful to be loved as Laurie loves me. He isn't sentimental, doesn't say much about it, but I see and feel it in all he says and does, and it makes me so happy and so humble that I don't seem to be the same girl I was. I never knew how good and generous and tender he was till now, for he lets me read his heart, and I find it full of noble impulses and hopes and purposes, and I'm so proud to know it's mine. He says he feels as if he could make a prosperous voyage now with me aboard his mate and lots of love for ballast. I pray he may and try to be all he believes me, for I love my gallant captain with all my heart and soul and might, and never will desert him while God lets us be together. Oh mother, I never knew how much like heaven this world could be when two people love and live for one another. And that's our cool, reserved, and worldly Amy. Truly love does work miracles. How very, very happy they must be. And Joe laid the rustling sheets together with a careful hand, as one might shut the covers of a lovely romance which holds the reader fast till the end comes, and he finds himself alone in the work-a-day world again. By and by Joe roamed away upstairs, for it was rainy and she could not walk. A restless spirit possessed her, and the old feeling came again, not bitter as it once was, but a sorrowfully patient wonder why one sister should have all she asked, the other nothing. It was not true, she knew that and tried to put it away, but the natural craving for affection was strong, and Amy's happiness woke the hungry longing for someone to love with heart and soul and cling to while God let them be together. Up in the garret, where Joe's unquiet wanderings ended, stood four little wooden chests in a row, each marked with its owner's name, and each filled with relics of the childhood and grow-hood, ended now for all. Joe glanced into them, and when she came to her own, leaned her chin on the edge and stared absently at the chaotic collection till a bundle of old exercise books caught her eye. She drew them out, turned them over, and relived that pleasant winter at kind Mrs. Kirk's. She had smiled at first, then she looked thoughtful, next sad, and when she came to a little message written in the professor's hand, her lips began to tremble, the books slid out of her lap, and she sat looking at the friendly words as they took a new meaning and touched a tender spot in her heart. Wait for me, my friend, I may be a little late, but I shall surely come. Oh, if only he would! So kind, so good, so patient with me always, my dear old Fritz. I didn't value him half enough when I had him, but now how I should love to see him, for everyone seems going away from me, and I'm all alone. And holding the little paper fast, as if it were a promise yet to be fulfilled, Joe laid her head down on a comfortable rag-bag, and cried, as if in opposition to the rain pattering on the roof. Was it all self-pity, loneliness, or low spirits, or was it the waking up of a sentiment which abided its time as patiently as its inspirer? Who shall say?


This is the only type of relationship that will work for the narcissist There is only one type of relationship that narcissist want It has to be a relationship that suits their agenda. It has to be on their terms The narcissist targeted you Because they believed that you were going to be a suitable source of supply for them They believed that you were going to fit in well with their plans They were not looking for someone to love or care for They were not looking for someone to share anything positive with Narcissists are looking for doormats They're looking for people that they can walk over and While you may not have been that in the beginning Narcissists know whether or not they can mold you into what they need you to be They need someone who is going to believe everything they say They need someone who is going to doubt their own intuition Someone who is going to do whatever they want Someone who isn't going to stand up to them.  They only care about themselves But they need people to serve them They need people to regulate their emotions They need an emotional punching bag They need an emotional tampon Someone to carry their emotional baggage Someone who they can unload all their pain and trauma onto Someone who will attend to the things that they don't want to deal with and that is why they target empaths That is why they target kind caring people People who want to help People who want to fix things People who are people-pleasers Because they know that you want them to like you They know that you want them to approve of you And they use that to their advantage They use it to make you jump through hoops Because that's what gives them supply When they can make you do all of these things to try to win them over To try to get their validation And they hold it in front of you like a carrot on a stick But you're never going to get it Because they can't even validate themselves They're very insecure And that's why they need you around To feed their egos To validate their false self To make them feel important While they don't even care about you While they treat you like you're worthless And beneath their consideration Because all they want is attention and validation from you They want you to feed their souls And they also want any resources that you have to offer Narcissists want money and power And if you have that, they will try to take it from you They will try to milk it out of you They will try to claim it as their own While professing that they love and care for you When really it's extortion, they're just using you Narcissists do not care about anyone but themselves But they don't like it when you speak on it There has to be this elephant in the room Where they're doing all of these things but you can't talk about it You have to keep this code of silence You have to pretend like everything is okay Because all they really want is the fantasy They want you to validate the illusion that they are trying to portray And as soon as you try to deviate from that They will intimidate you They will pressure you into returning to the box that they have created for you Because all they really want is someone who will reflect back to them Just how powerful and in control they are Even though the opposite may be true They don't care about the truth All they care about is what they believe about themselves Which is a reflection of what people believe about them Which is why they're so focused on their image of reputation They're so focused on managing the impression that people have of them Not because they care about other people But because they care about what is being reflected back to them People commonly misconceive That all a narcissist cares about Is how other people see them But really that only matters to them Based on how it pertains to them All a narcissist cares about Is how they see themselves And this can be affected by how other people see them But really they're so self-absorbed That the only thing that matters Is the reflection they get of themselves People are just pawns in this strategic game of chess That they've created in their own minds Which they use to change how they see and feel about themselves Thank you for watching I hope this video resonates with you Please like, comment, share and subscribe If you would like to donate My PayPal link is in the video description Coaching Inquiries You can email me at coaching.narc-sur-fiver.co.uk Thank you for watching and I'll talk to you soon


Hello everyone. This is financial author Amit Dan of amitdan.com. On this channel you'll find financial travel and more videos just like the one you're watching right now. If you like what you see, please give it a thumbs up and consider subscribing. The coffee shop is just like the Starbucks coffee shop and the city arrangements are very nice. And the coffee and other items such as cakes or sandwiches are very expressive. And most of the people who hang out there are young people, they're students and I didn't see any difference than Starbucks. So here I found lots of local people, young people that are hanging out and having a cup of coffee or sandwiches or cake. So enjoy that video and if you like what you see, please give it a thumbs up and consider subscribing. There will be more videos from my balance trip coming up. So I'll see you shortly. Thank you. Thank you.