To remain pure, a novel has to cast a moral puzzle. Anything else is mere negotiation.
When you make a break for freedom you don't necessarily find company on the way.
In real life, it is the hare who wins. Every time. Look around you. And in any case it is my contention that Aesop was writing for the tortoise market. Hares have no time to read. They are too busy winning the game.
You can never betray the people who are dead.
And without understanding, could each properly love the other?
One loses the capacity to grieve as a child grieves, or to rage as a child rages: hotly, despairingly, with tears of passion. One grows up, one becomes civilized, one learns one's manners, and consequently can no longer manage these two functions - sorrow and anger - adequately.