"Has to!" ejaculated Mary with contempt. "I should think you would be ashamed to say that."
They had approached the border of the lake, the breeze blew sweet and chill. Mary sat down on a bench, and Lavery, buttoning his coat, sat beside her. He knew he should catch cold, perhaps have an attack of lumbago, but no matter!
"Now why should I be ashamed?" he asked, puzzled.
"Why, because—that's no way for a man to talk.... We don't have to do what we don't choose to."
"Oh, don't we?" he murmured again. And after a moment, "Suppose there's a clash between two wills, two people—one has to go down, doesn't he, one has to submit, can't get what he wants, has to take what he doesn't want? How about that?"
"I'm not talking about what we want, of course we don't always get what we want. I'm talking about the way we live, whether we do what we know we ought to do or not—and I say we don't have to live and do what we know is wrong. I say a man ought to die rather than do that!"
"Well, what is wrong?" enquired Lavery mildly. "Now I'll tell you what I think.... I think the most important thing for a man is his work, his output. If he's got work that he believes in and loves, he's got the best thing on earth. And anything's right for him that helps him to do that work. And anything's wrong, for him, that prevents him from doing it. For that's what he's for, that's his reason for living, what he creates, that's why he's different from every other human being, so he can do just that thing.... As for any other right and wrong, I don't believe in 'em. We don't get right and wrong handed to us, we have to make them as we go along."
"Well, I am surprised, to hear you feel that way about work," said Mary, showing her claws.
"You think I don't work?... Well, perhaps you wouldn't recognize it.... I admit the law isn't my work, as it's Laurence's, in the creative sense. He's been able to stick to that and do what he was meant to do—but he's had to pay for it. That's what the drink means, and—other things that you don't like, perhaps."