Blake brought them much closer together, and their tussles were sharper, but less futile and exasperating.
“Why don’t you take a lesson from Mrs. Blake?” he asked, after they had read the Life.
“What? And sit and hold your hand? You’d turn round and hit me.”
“I believe I would,” he laughed. “By Jove! I believe I would.”
He was not easy for her to handle. It was like playing with high explosives, save that she was not playing.
She said to him once, when they had come very near the intimacy she desired:—
“I believe you would understand me if only you could let go.”
“How can I let go,” he roared, “when I feel that you are weighing and judging and criticizing every word I say, every thing I do?”
And she was silent for a long time. It was a new and dreadful idea, that she was hemming him in by making him feel that she was judging him. It was so far from her intention that she protested:—