In this man there is something similar; he wanders about, reconciles himself to his fate, and does nothing.

在这个人身上也有类似的东西； 他四处游荡， 与自己的命运和解， 什么也不做。

In Marbella or St Moritz, beside a 9.5 million dollars swimming pool or among his Braques and Picassos, with a fortune estimated at 2.5 billion dollars, he reconciled himself to exile.

在马尔韦亚或圣莫里茨，或者在950万美元打造的游泳池旁边或者在他收藏的布拉克和毕加索的作品间，这个估计拥有25亿美元财富的人才会勉强承认自己被流放。

Not that he felt it as particularly hostile, for he reconciled himself to much that was worse; but because, for some remote reason, he was born an eighteenth-century child.

并不是说他觉得它特别敌对， 因为他接受了更糟糕的事情； 而是因为，出于某种遥远的原因， 他出生于一个 18 世纪的孩子。

What if the acts he had reconciled himself to because they made him a stronger instrument of the divine glory, were to become the pretext of the scoffer, and a darkening of that glory?

如果他因为这些行为使他成为神圣荣耀的更强大工具而甘心接受的行为，要成为嘲笑者的借口，并使那荣耀黯淡怎么办？