"You don't know what you're talking about," he said bitterly. "It
simply chews you up, gnaws holes in you."
She thought of what Dr. Angus had said.
"Well then, patch yourself up and go on again."
"But after all, why should you? There's nobody cares tuppence now what
happens to me. I'm an outcast."
"Louis, what was that you promised your mother--I heard you on the ship
just as the tender was going? Didn't you promise to make yourself
better?"
"Yes, but I've been thinking about it. Why should I? What does it really
matter to the Mater? She didn't care enough not to have me spewed out of
home. She's at home now; they'll be sitting round the dinner-table after
a tip-top meal. Presently they'll be playing whist and congratulating
themselves that I'm safely out of England. They'll breathe freely now."
"I don't believe it," she said quickly. "Mothers and fathers are not
like that."
"That's all you know. All day to-day, after she got back from Tilbury
and had powdered the traces of tears from her face she'd be at Harrods
or the Stores, buying things. And she'd take just as much interest in
matching some silks for embroidery, and getting the exact flavour of
cheese the Pater likes as she took in making me promise not to drink.
And to-morrow her friends will come, with an air of a funeral about
them, and be discreetly sympathetic about the terrible trouble she has
been having with Louis--such a pity--after he promised so well! Oh be
damned to them all! I'm not going to care any more.
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