Henry James

He felt at moments as if there were never anything to do for them that was worthy – to call worthy – of the personal relation; never any charming charge to take of any confidence deeply reposed.  He might vulgarly have put it that one had never to plot or to lie for them; he might humorously have put it that one had never, as by the higher conformity, to lie in wait with the dagger or to prepare insidiously the cup.  These were services that by all romantic tradition were consecrated to affection quite as much as to hate.  But he could amuse himself with saying – so far as the amusement went – that they were what he had once for all turned his back on.