"Louis, it's the beastliness of it, you know," she cried. "Imagine
something taking possession of your body against your will. I hate that.
Like a madman seizing hold of you--like that gorse being burnt out and
growing up and breaking through other things that tried to grow--"
Louis was dumb. After awhile, when she had thought and thought again,
she said:
"I'm a wretched coward to say these things to you. It makes it harder
for you. But I can't help it. Kraill was right when he said I'd got to
cracking-point. If I were heroic I'd lie down and be a beautiful
invalid, waiting for a happy release. It would be easier for you if I
could. Louis, I just can't. It wouldn't be honest. If I die, it won't be
a beautiful spectacle, my dear. I'll fight every inch of the way!
There's such a lot of me to kill. I'm so alive, and I love to be alive.
It--it won't be dignified--"
"Oh God, I wish I were a Christian, or a theosophist, or something, and
believed people went on!" he groaned.
"I don't want to go on anywhere else," she said. "I want to go on here
with you and Andrew. And I want to see Dr. Angus and Aunt Janet and all
the others at Lashnagar--and--No, I don't want to see him," she added,
and thought again for a while in silence. "I don't need to--"
He looked at her quickly, and said nothing.
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