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〃I'm boiling with indignation；〃 I said。 〃 I lay in bed last night
and went through it all。 What in God's name was to be expected of
us but what has happened？ I went through my life bit by bit last
night； I recalled all I've had to do with virtue and women； and all
I was told and how I was prepared。 I was born into cowardice and
debasement。 We all are。 Our generation's grimy with hypocrisy。 I
came to the most beautiful things in lifelike peeping Tom of
Coventry。 I was never given a light； never given a touch of natural
manhood by all this dingy； furtive； canting； humbugging English
world。 Thank God！ I'll soon be out of it！ The shame of it！ The
very savages in Australia initiate their children better than the
English do to…day。 Neither of us was ever given a view of what they
call morality that didn't make it show as shabby subservience； as
the meanest discretion； an abject submission to unreasonable
prohibitions！ meek surrender of mind and body to the dictation of
pedants and old women and fools。 We weren't taughtwe were mumbled
at！ And when we found that the thing they called unclean； unclean；
was Pagan beautyGod！ it was a glory to sin； Britten； it was a
pride and splendour like bathing in the sunlight after dust and
grime！〃
〃Yes；〃 said Britten。 〃That's all very well〃
I interrupted him。 〃I know there's a caseI'm beginning to think
it a valid case against us； but we never met it！ There's a steely
pride in self restraint； a nobility of chastity； but only for those
who see and think and actuntrammeled and unafraid。 The other
thing； the current thing； why！ it's worth as much as the chastity of
a monkey kept in a cage by itself！〃 I put my foot in a chair； and
urged my case upon him。 〃This is a dirty world； Britten； simply
because it is a muddled world； and the thing you call morality is
dirtier now than the thing you call immorality。 Why don't the
moralists pick their stuff out of the slime if they care for it； and
wipe it？damn them！ I am burning now to say： 'Yes； we did this and
this；' to all the world。 All the world！ 。 。 。 I will！〃
Britten rubbed the palm of his hand on the corner of his desk。
〃That's all very well； Remington；〃 he said。 〃You mean to go。〃
He stopped and began again。 〃If you didn't know you were in the
wrong you wouldn't be so damned rhetorical。 You're in the wrong。
It's as plain to you as it is to me。 You're leaving a big work；
you're leaving a wife who trusted you； to go and live with your
jolly mistress。 。 。 。 You won't see you're a statesman that
matters； that no single man； maybe； might come to such influence as
you in the next ten years。 You're throwing yourself away and
accusing your country of rejecting you。〃
He swung round upon his swivel at me。 〃Remington；〃 he said； 〃have
you forgotten the immense things our movement means？〃
I thought。 〃Perhaps I am rhetorical；〃 I said。
〃But the things we might achieve！ If you'd only stay noweven now！
Oh！ you'd suffer a little socially； but what of that？ You'd be able
to go onperhaps all the better for hostility of the kind you'd
get。 You know； Remingtonyou KNOW。〃
I thought and went back to his earlier point。 〃If I am rhetorical；
at any rate it's a living feeling behind it。 Yes； I remember all
the implications of our aimsvery splendid； very remote。 But just
now it's rather like offering to give a freezing man the sunlit
Himalayas from end to end in return for his camp…fire。 When you
talk of me and my jolly mistress； it isn't fair。 That misrepresents
everything。 I'm not going out of thisfor delights。 That's the
sort of thing men like Snuffles and Keyhole imaginethat excites
them！ When I think of the things these creatures think！ Ugh！ But
YOU know better？ You know that physical passion that burns like a
fireends clean。 I'm going for love； Brittenif I sinned for
passion。 I'm going； Britten； because when I saw her the other day
she HURT me。 She hurt me damnably； Britten。 。 。 。 I've been a cold
manI've led a rhetorical lifeyou hit me with that word！I put
things in a windy way； I know； but what has got hold of me at last
is her pain。 She's ill。 Don't you understand？ She's a sick thing
a weak thing。 She's no more a goddess than I'm a god。 。 。 。 I'm
not in love with her now； I'm RAW with love for her。 I feel like a
man that's been flayed。 I have been flayed。 。 。 。 You don't begin
to imagine the sort of helpless solicitude。 。 。 。 She's not going
to do things easily； she's ill。 Her courage fails。 。 。 。 It's hard
to put things when one isn't rhetorical； but it's this； Britten
there are distresses that matter more than all the delights or
achievements in the world。 。 。 。 I made her what she isas I never
made Margaret。 I've made herI've broken her。 。 。 。 I'm going
with my own woman。 The rest of my life and England； and so forth；
must square itself to that。 。 。 。〃
For a long time； as it seemed； we remained silent and motionless。
We'd said all we had to say。 My eyes caught a printed slip upon the
desk before him； and I came back abruptly to the paper。
I picked up this galley proof。 It was one of Winter's essays。
〃This man goes on doing first…rate stuff；〃 I said。 〃I hope you will
keep him going。〃
He did not answer for a moment or so。 〃I'll keep him going；〃 he
said at last with a sigh。
5
I have a letter Margaret wrote me within a week of our flight。 I
cannot resist transcribing some of it here； because it lights things
as no word of mine can do。 It is a string of nearly inconsecutive
thoughts written in pencil in a fine； tall； sprawling hand。 Its
very inconsecutiveness is essential。 Many words are underlined。 It
was in answer to one from me； but what I wrote has passed utterly
from my mind。 。 。 。
〃Certainly；〃 she says； 〃I want to hear from you； but I do not want
to see you。 There's a sort of abstract YOU that I want to go on
with。 Something I've made out of you。 。 。 。 I want to know things
about youbut I don't want to see or feel or imagine。 When some
day I have got rid of my intolerable sense of proprietorship； it may
be different。 Then perhaps we may meet again。 I think it is even
more the loss of our political work and dreams that I am feeling
than the loss of your presence。 Aching loss。 I thought so much of
the things we were DOING for the worldhad given myself so
unreservedly。 You've left me with nothing to DO。 I am suddenly at
loose ends。 。 。 。
〃We women are trained to be so dependent on a man。 I've got no life
of my own at all。 It seems now to me that I wore my clothes even
for you and your schemes。 。 。 。
〃After I have told myself a hundred times why this has happened； I
ask again； 'Why did he give things up？ Why did he give things
up？' 。 。 。
〃It is just as though you were wilfully dead。 。 。 。
〃Then I ask again and again whether this thing need have happened at
all； whether if I had had a warning； if I had understood better； I
might not have adapted myself to your restless mind and made this
catastrophe impossible。 。 。 。
〃Oh； my dear！ why hadn't you the pluck to hurt me at the beginning；
and tell me what you thought of me and life？ You didn't give me a
chance； not a chance。 I suppose you couldn't。 All these things you
and I stood away from。 You let my first repugnances repel you。 。 。 。
〃It is strange to think after all these years that I should be
asking myself； do I love you？ have I loved you？ In a sense I think
I HATE you。 I feel you have taken my life； dragged it in your wake
for a time； thrown it aside。 I am resentful。 Unfairly resentful；
for why should I exact that you should watch and understand my life；
when clearly I have understood so little of yours。 But I am savage
savage at the wrecking of all you were to do。
〃Oh； whywhy did you give things up？
〃No human being is his own to do what he likes with。 You were not
only pledged to my tiresome； ineffectual companionship； but to great
purposes。 They ARE great purposes。 。 。 。
〃If only I could take up your work as you leave it； with the
strength you hadthen indeed I feel I could let you goyou and
your young mistress。 。 。 。 All that matters so little to me。 。 。 。
〃Yet I think I must indeed love you yourself in my slower way。 At
times I am mad with jealousy at the thought of all I hadn't the wit
to give you。 。 。 。 I've always hidden my tears from youand what
was in my heart。 It's my nature to hideand you； you want things
brought to you to see。 You are so curious as to be almost cruel。
You don't understand reserves。 You have no mercy with restraints
and reservations。 You arc not really a CIVILISED man at all。 You
hate pretencesand not only pretences but decent coverings。 。 。 。
〃It's only afte