René swung round and struck his father full on the mouth, thrilled sickeningly to the impact and raised his hand to strike again. Mr. Fourmy caught him by the wrist and dragged him up so that their faces were close together, both breathing heavily:
“Steady,” whispered the older man, “steady! steady on, boy. It’s the women bitching at you got into your blood. You’re a good boy, a virtuous boy. Things are hard for virtue. Listen to me. Do you hear?” René nodded. “Very well then. Life’s a damn dirty business, and it grows damneder and damneder as time goes on. It got so damned for me that I cleared out. See?” René nodded. “I cleared out till I could see that it was damn funny. Then I came back. It was grinding me as it is grinding you.”
He patted his son’s arm so affectionately that René choked and the tears ran down his cheeks.
They walked on, René lurching, until his father took his arm again and led him. There was a moon over them, and as he led, Mr. Fourmy said:
“On a night like this even Thrigsby is beautiful. Lord! How I used to hate the place. But when I had seen things I came to know that it is like any other. There are good men in it and good things, and over all the same slime of meanness and fear that only very few can penetrate. We live in a world of women, boy, and we must make the best of it.”
René hardly heard him, but he could feel the pressure of his hand and was glad that here, at last, was one nature that did not bar him out. It was so astonishing as to be repellent, but he was so hungry for comfort that he could not withdraw.
[X
HONEYMOON]
That God forbid that made me first your slave
I should in thought control your times of pleasure.