He
volunteered the information that there was whisky for sale at the store,
but did not mention whether he had wanted to buy it or not.
He got up, taking the mattock. Marcella began to fight a great stem
running along the ground.
"Devilish stuff," he said, turning back to look at her. "See that little
patch over there?"
She nodded, following his eyes. A brisk little gorse bush was bursting
from the ground. A few feet away another was keeping it company.
"Devilish stuff!" he repeated. "Just like a cancer--in pathology. You
chop the damned thing out, root and branch, and there it pops out again,
miles away from where it started. Look at that piece there."
He attacked the little plant with rather unnecessary severity and dug up
a thin, tough, cord-like root which he threw on the fire savagely.
"Louis, do you remember that schoolmaster on the _Oriana_?" she asked
suddenly, staring thoughtfully at the long, thin leaders.
"Oh, that ass who sat in my chair? Yes. Why?"
"He told me a fearful thing about cancer."
"He would--blighted idiot. What was it?"
She hesitated a minute.
"He said he'd read in some book--he was always reading queer books--that
cancer was an elemental that had taken possession of one's body. A
horribly preying, parasitic life--feeding on one's body--Ugh, it made me
feel sick! And it's so cruel, really, to say things like that.
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