And so the days wore on until they had been married six weeks. In all
that time Louis never saw whisky. This, he confessed to her, was a
miracle; except for when he was with the Maories in the Prohibition
Country, and when he had been in hospital for various long stretches, he
had never known three days to go by without his being drunk. So she felt
that they had advanced steadily. Moods of depression came and went,
charmed away by her. They spent a good deal of time on the roof. They
had not many books to pass the slow hours, though Dr. Angus sent two
every week. Louis began to lecture her on medicine; he really knew
extraordinarily well what he had learnt: he was an excellent teacher of
facts, but he had not one iota of deductive thought in his teaching and,
like Andrew Lashcairn, was remarkably impatient if she did not
understand or, understanding, ventured to express an opinion of her own
about anything. They had many glamorous nights on the roof, nights that
recalled the enchantment of those hours under the Aurora, nights of
severe mental reservation on Marcella's part, all unsuspected by Louis.
He confessed to her that his ideas were getting modified; a great
confession for so crusted a conservative as he.
One night they were kept awake by a tropical downpour which lashed
against the windows and poured through the ceiling.
Pages:
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345