The young man was subdued. He nodded but did not speak.
"How's your grandmother this morning?" inquired Adam. "I couldn't ask anybody that knew."
"She's better—very near well I believe."
Peter then pushed forward alone and George spoke.
"Hope us shall have a bit of peace to Red House now. Merry hell I can tell you for all parties since this happened."
"Is he calming?' asked Adam.
"He's been calm since the corpse came to Red House—calm by day, but not by night. He's pretty broke up. And women as usual at the bottom of all his troubles. Blast 'em, they be at the bottom of most. Why don't we keep 'em like cows or sheep—in herds—and only use 'em for breeding men? They'll always be a canker and a curse so long as we treat 'em like we do."
"This is your silly way of showing sorrow for your master, George," said Mr. Marydrew. "You mean well, though you talk foolishness. But you must keep your reason in bounds and put a bit on your tongue, or you won't help him."
"I'd help him with truth if I could," answered the other. "He's a chap lost in a fog of misery, that's half rubbish if he could see it. He's cussed Providence—that's something to the good; and from cussing, he'll soon get like me, to fling Providence over altogether. I'm damn bad myself, and none the worse for that I believe."
George elaborated his opinions with a good deal of ferocity. It was his way of expressing sympathy with Jacob Bullstone, a fact that William had appreciated.