It's probably a hundred miles away.
And I've no money. You must keep it all. This craving comes on and
simply eats me up, dear. It's like a cancer, gnawing through bone and
flesh and muscle. In the city when the gnawing gets too awful there's
always an anesthetic in the nearest pub. In a way, to conquer it in the
city is more noble. I said 'noble' in inverted commas, dear. I don't
think it is particularly noble. But it's going to be the devil of a
fight."
She did not know what to say or think. It seemed, at any rate, better
that he should be removed from whisky, however hard it was going to be
for him.
"I've thought a lot about it," he went on, speaking more impersonally
than she had thought he could. "It's going to be so awful for you. I'll
be a fiend to you, I expect, when the hunger comes on. I suppose this is
one of the advantages of an inebriates' home. They'd shove me in a
straight jacket or give me drugs when I got like that. Out here, you
see, there's only you. I can't control myself. I may hurt you."
"You won't. If you do, I'll fight you, so you needn't worry on my
account. I think it's all a silly convention that says a man in a temper
mustn't thump a woman! If you want to thump me, do! But you'll probably
get a much worse thumping than you give."
He tried to be cheered by her, but could not.
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