"Of course," went on Mrs. King in a flat voice, "I've always one mercy I
thank God for on my bended knees every night. That is, not having any
drunkard's children to bring up and be a curse to me when their father's
left off breaking my heart."
"Oh--no, no!" cried Marcella, staring at her with horror.
"Yes, kid, just you keep that in mind! You ta' care, my dear. It's on'y
natural, if you have kids, they'll take after their father. And I'd
sooner see them laying dead before me than bring up drunkards to be a
curse to some other poor devil. They'll not escape it. It's in their
blood."
Marcella burst in passionately:
"Why, Mrs. King, that's the rottenest, wickedest heresy that was ever
invented to tell anyone! If you believe a cruel thing like that, it
means that the whole scheme of things is wrong. Why should children take
after a bad parent more than a good one? Why should they be weak rather
than strong? If you're logical, what you say means that the world is
getting worse and worse. And everyone knows it's getting better every
minute--"
"I'd like to see it," said Mrs. King.
"Besides," went on Marcella, "besides, if I had a baby I'd build him so
strong, I'd make him so good his father would simply get strong and good
because he couldn't fight the strength and goodness all round him! I'd
build a wall of strength round the child--I'd pull down the pillars of
the heavens to make him strong--I'd clothe him in fires--There, I do
talk rubbish, don't I?" she added, quietly as she turned away.
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