“What d’you mean?”
“I mean I half thought I might visit you. I really didn’t know....”
“I suppose you didn’t want to.”
“On the contrary, I wanted to very much. That was just why I didn’t.”
“I don’t quite——”
“Listen. Did I ever tell you that I detest worms?”
“No, but what——?”
“Well, I do. I can’t stand them at any price.”
“Nor can I, but how——”
“Listen. When I was a tiny boy it used to send me almost into hysterics if I touched one, even by accident. Well, when I grew older, I used to despise myself for being so weak-minded. I used to gather all the worms I could find, fat juicy ones, you know, with red bellies, put them all into one single writhing heap and run my fingers through the lot! My flesh crept with the loathsomeness of it: I was often sick and gasping with horror after I had done it. But it gave me confidence, because it taught me I wasn’t at the mercy of arbitrary feelings. It showed me that I had myself under iron control....”