He pushed up his hair. He had been working on a big choral work which he was composing, and by this time he was almost demented.
“Can’t you stand my presence!” he shouted, and dashed downstairs.
“Nurse!” cried Effie. “It’s no use trying to get a grip on life. You’re just at the mercy of Forces,” she shrieked angrily.
“Why not?” said Alvina. “There are good life-forces. Even the will of God is a life-force.”
“You don’t understand! I want to be myself. And I’m not myself. I’m just torn to pieces by Forces. It’s horrible—”
“Well, it’s not my fault. I didn’t make the universe,” said Alvina. “If you have to be torn to pieces by forces, well, you have. Other forces will put you together again.”
“I don’t want them to. I want to be myself. I don’t want to be nailed together like a chair, with a hammer. I want to be myself.”
“You won’t be nailed together like a chair. You should have faith in life.”
“But I hate life. It’s nothing but a mass of forces. I am intelligent. Life isn’t intelligent. Look at it at this moment. Do you call this intelligent? Oh—Oh! It’s horrible! Oh—!” She was wild and sweating with her pains. Tommy flounced out downstairs, beside himself. He was heard talking to some one in the moonlight outside. To Ciccio. He had already telephoned wildly for the doctor. But the doctor had replied that Nurse would ring him up.
The moment Mrs. Tuke recovered her breath she began again.