And he knew beyond the
shadow of doubt that no power on earth save whisky could ever get him to
make love to anything--even a young girl who seemed in love with him
already.
He was extraordinarily shy with and cynical about women. He had always
been detested by the servants at home--more or less unjustly. He spoke
to them abominably because he was frightened of their sex. Had he not
bullied them when he wanted small services performed, they never would
have been performed at all, for he would have had no courage to ask
civilly for anything. To his sister's friends when he was forced into
their company he was boorish, simply because girls put him into such a
panic of inferiority that, in self defence, he had to assert himself
unnaturally. Years ago his sister had refused to make one of a theatre
or concert party that included Louis; either he got drunk in the
interval and rejoined them later, making them conspicuous by his
behaviour, or else he sat at their side glowering and boorish, afraid
even to look at the players on the stage, too shy even to negotiate the
purchase of chocolates or programme. The last time he had been at the
theatre with his sister and Violet had been after a whole fortnight
without whisky. They were rather late; the play had begun. His sister
had whispered to him to get a programme.
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