"
"It's queer," he said slowly. "Most people--husband and wife--would not
be able to talk about this sort of thing to each other. They'd hide and
lie to each other."
"We've both been weak--and we've both been helped. And these demands we
make of each other teach us so much. If Kraill had not demanded courage
of me I'd--he'd have had me. It's no use lying about it, is it? Why
should you be so frank about your whisky, and give yourself away to me
every time about it, and I hide up my weakness from you?"
"You're--weirdly honest, old girl," he said with a short laugh.
"Yes. Even now, if I had not promised him courage of thinking, I
suppose--he'd have me--but I had to live up to what he saw in me."
"And that, of course, is what saved me," he said quietly.
"I've often wondered," she said. "Are you going to tell me now?"
There was a long silence. He smoked two cigarettes as his mind went back
to that hot, strange day.
"I went out," he began at last, "to kill him. I'd always been a coward
before. But then I didn't know what fear was. In a crisis like
that--Marcella, listen to me getting back the psychology I learnt at the
hospital!--the ruling emotion comes on top. And my ruling emotion, I
think, is selfishness. Brutally frank, old lady! Learnt that from you.
But do you remember that soap, when young Andrew got his face skinned
because I wouldn't let him have mine? And--heaps of times--about grub,
and things.
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