Of course he does. Don't you think I resent whisky?
Wouldn't any man resent the thing that makes dints in him, makes him
undignified, body and soul, and gives him a thick head and a sense of
repentance? I guess I look a pretty mucky spectacle when I'm drunk. I
see myself afterwards, and can imagine the rest. Well, a man in the
throes of a woman orgy is just as undignified--even if he doesn't
lurch--oh and slobber! I've never heard that your Professor drinks. That
doesn't happen to be his hunger, you see. But if he drank to the same
extent as he has love-affairs he'd be in an asylum now; and if he were a
woman he'd be on the streets! No woman--even if she were a Grand
Duchess--would be tolerated with the same number of sex affairs as a man
can have. She'd just have to be a prostitute out and out--without
choice--or else keep herself in hand."
"Like Aunt Janet," murmured Marcella to herself, "and come to acid
drops."
Aloud she said. "Louis--I wish you wouldn't tell me. I always think of
clever men like Kraill as gods and heroes--I hate to think they have
holes in them. They have such wonderful thoughts."
"That's the devil of it. I know they have. He has--Kraill. I've been to
his lectures and felt inspired to do anything. They most of them think
much better than they can do, that's about the size of it! I suppose we
all do that more or less, but we don't put it on paper to be used in
evidence against us.
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