We think fine things and do smudged ones, and so
the world goes on."
There was a long silence. She crept a little closer to him and put her
hand into his. He held it tight. It was almost as if her world were
shaking about her and even his unsteady hand seemed some support.
At last she said, as if talking to herself.
"Louis--can't something be done for us all? Can't we have these things
cut out of us like cancers? Can't we get rid of these horrible desires
as we've lost tails and hair and things we don't need? Then in time
people would be born without them. Louis--you don't think--think of me
like that, do you--as a--a hunger? As something you must have if you
don't have whisky, or as something that will drive you to whisky if I go
away as Violet did?"
"I'm--I'm afraid I do, old girl," he said. "It's natural--I say,
Marcella--you're only a kid. I don't believe you quite realize what
you've taken on--in that way."
She looked startled. Then she laughed gaily.
"I'm not afraid of my part of it, Louis," she said, "but I can't help
thinking that if I'm to be--as you put it--a sort of hunger substituted
for whisky, we're all wrong. Suppose I died, for instance?"
"Marcella, if you die I shall die too. Anything else is unthinkable. I
can't face life without you, now. I can't be a pariah again.
Pages:
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257