IX
All night long the wind roared round the house, dashing gusts of sleety rain against the western windows. At times even the thick walls shook. The lake rose into waves that pounded on the shore. Mary tried to read herself to sleep but in vain. At last she put out her light, and thoughts, images, questions, raced through her mind as she lay in darkness.
A happy woman ... proud and happy, she ought to be. But what had she to be proud of.... Men were more fortunate, they had their work, could really achieve something, could take anything they wanted.... Laurence took what he wanted, to help him do his work, and I say he was right.... Laurence went his own way, apart from her.... Of course apart, she had driven him away. No, he had begun it before that. But she hadn't done her duty by him, it was her duty to forgive.... No, she didn't believe in forgiveness, didn't believe in duty. It wouldn't have worked any better. He would have gone his own way anyhow. And now the boys were beginning too.... Use your imagination, Mary....
She didn't want to use her imagination, she was afraid of it. Yes, afraid.... All sorts of things that she had shut out in the dark, wouldn't look at, and now they were horrible to her.... Why should one have to look at the dark side of life, the animal side?... But suppose that was really life, suppose we were just animals and nothing more—all the rest words. That might very well be.... Her father had spent his life taking care of the physical body, he didn't believe in anything else, didn't look forward.... Life ... it's mystery on mystery ... we're just ignorant.... What was it then that made him so calm and strong, not afraid of anything? She had thought that this was what religion did for you, but he had never had any religion, yet he had always been like this, since she could remember him. Hilary had it too, that same strength, and with him perhaps it was religion.... But she didn't believe in religion, heaven was empty, God had melted away completely, she didn't believe in him.
She tossed restlessly, the tumult without echoing the storm within. It seemed that the wind was driving through her head, her thoughts were like whirling leaves....
Why should she be proud of her sons? They were not hers, they were Laurence's as much as hers, perhaps more; they were distinct individuals, did not belong to her, she had almost no part in them. And she had not trained them in the way they should go ... how could she, when since the early days she had ceased to believe in any definite way? They had just grown up themselves.... You haven't nagged them, not very much.... Was that what her father thought of moral teaching? They had learned not to lie or steal, of course. But as they grew to be men they would begin again. Jim had already begun. He lied to her, and apparently told the truth to his grandfather.... Let them feel that they could tell you anything—they wouldn't tell you probably.... No, they would have their lives apart, and she would be alone still—In her youth she had never felt lonely, but now....
Lavery knew what loneliness was, that was why she had talked to him. He had known how she was feeling before she spoke, otherwise she would never have spoken. He was worldly wise, but that was all, or nearly all—it wasn't much. His consolations—what use were they? Soft living, books, music, little adventures.... She would rather jump into the lake than live like that. Why not?... Nobody would miss her very much. The boys at first, it would be a shock, of course. And Laurence would have to find somebody to run the house. Her father would miss her, and it would be a town-scandal, a mystery.... Why on earth.... A woman with everything to live for.... Temporary insanity.... And then, prying and prowling gossip.
Why not? Well, of course she would never do it. Life was too strong in her—physical life. She would have to be inconceivably miserable before she could seek death. She was afraid of death, now that beyond it lay the void.