That's what you're getting at, isn't it? And then gradually that wouldn't be divvy any more And you'd yawn and long to go back to your husband. That's exactly what Tottie Charles said. She tried it for three months while Freddie Charles was in Madeira. It's exactly what she said down to the yawn and the booking-office.
And the "divvy. Most of us prefer ripping! It is more sensible. Was it what you saw of us--the future mothers of England, you know, and all--at Miss Lampeter's--that made you take to the slums? Out of disgust and despair? I couldn't see that I was doing any good. I know it cost enough! I don't suppose you were--or are--any worse than your mother or grandmother, or the patricianesses of Rome or the worshippers of Ashtaroth.
It seems we have to have a governing class and governing classes are subject to special temptations. There's some that hold she's not dead yet. I don't know that I do myself. What's his name? But I've done with it. I prefer to pin my faith to Mrs Vanderdecken.
And, of course, Freud. Sylvia stretched herself on her sofa. She opened her brown eyes wide and let the lids slowly drop again. Eunice Vanderdecken is a bitterly misjudged woman. She's a real good pal. She's welcome for me Listen now, you two. I said to myself when I came in: "I daresay I've given them both a rotten time. And I said I'd sit and listen to all the pi-jaw you wanted to give me if I sat till dawn.
And I will. As a return. But I'd rather you let my friends alone. Both the elder people were silent. There came from the shuttered windows of the dark room a low, scratching rustle. It sounds like superstition. Mother's rotten with it. And there are especial spots. These deep forests are noted among others. Other agonies of animals went away into all the shadows. Mrs Satterthwaite was crossing herself with great rapidity. The silence remained. To begin with One grows skinny--my sort--the complexion fades, the teeth stick out.
And then there is the boredom. I know it; one is bored You can't tell me anything I don't know about that. I'm thirty.
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I know what to expect. You'd like to have told me, Father, only you were afraid of taking away from your famous man of the world effect--you'd like to have told me that one can insure against the boredom and the long, skinny teeth by love of husband and child.
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She paused, waiting for exclamations of dismay or disapprobation from the priest. These did not come. You get a girl Of course you're a priest and mother's mother; we're en famille. But Sister Mary of the Cross at the convent had a maxim: "Wear velvet gloves in family life.
Very well then, you shall I'll tell you; it's because of his simple, sheer immorality. I don't mean his actions; his views! Every speech he utters about everything makes me--I swear it makes me--in spite of myself, want to stick a knife into him, and I can't prove he's wrong, not ever, about the simplest thing. But I can pain him. And I will He sits about in chairs that fit his back, clumsy, like a rock, not moving for hours And I can make him wince.
Oh, without showing it He's what you call loyal There's an absurd little chit of a fellow And his old nurse, who looks after the child I tell you I've only got to raise an eyelid His eyes roll in a sort of mute anguish Of course he doesn't say anything. He's an English country gentleman.
I've never noticed it. I saw a good deal of him when I stayed with you for the week before your child was born.
I talked with him a great deal. Except in the matter of the two communions--and even in these I don't know that we differed so much--I found him perfectly sound. It isn't even the word. He's the best ever. There was your father, for a good man That's an end of it. Look here. Try and be just. Suppose I'm looking at The Times at breakfast and say, not having spoken to him for a week: "It's wonderful what the doctors are doing. Have you seen the latest? And it's like being hypnotised; you can't think of what to answer him.
Or he'll reduce you to speechless rage by proving that murderers ought not to be executed. And then I'll ask, casually, if children ought to be lethal-chambered for being constipated. Because Marchant--that's the nurse--is always whining that the child's bowels aren't regular and the dreadful diseases that leads to. Of course that hurts him. For he's perfectly soppy about that child, though he half knows it isn't his own But that's what I mean by immorality. He'll profess that murderers ought to be preserved in order to breed from because they're bold fellows, and innocent little children executed because they're sick And he'll almost make you believe it, though you're on the point of retching at the ideas.
It would make people smell a rat at once. Christopher wouldn't hear of it I've got Wateman's to look after. My new land steward's coming in next week. If only for a fortnight So many Catholic ladies do it Ye might think of it. No doubt he'll feel nauseated. I've reckoned on that.
It will give me a little of my own back. Listen here I've always got this to look forward to: I'll settle down by that man's side. I'll be as virtuous as any woman.
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I've made up my mind to it and I'll be it. And I'll be bored stiff for the rest of my life.
Except for one thing. I can torment that man.
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And I'll do it. There are many ways. But if the worst comes to the worst I can always drive him silly I can. I know how, you see. And with you, through him, for tormenting me. I've come all the way from Brittany without stopping. She erected her body above her skirts on the sofa, stiffened like a snake's neck above its coils. Her face was quite pallid, her eyes staring out.