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It's the only meeting-ground between a man and most women. You I couldn't make love to you! You're not seductive, in the least. You're hard and quick and taut. There's a courage about you " "Please, Professor Kraill," she began, but he silenced her by an impatient gesture. "Listen to me, Marcella. You listened to me before, like a little meek girl on a school-bench. I'm sick, sick, sick of women!
He had, all his life, generalized about woman; he had never known a woman who was not rather vapid, rather brainless; he had the same idea of women as Professor Kraill had ventilated in his lectures that they were the vehicles of the race, living for the race but getting all the fun they could out of the preliminary canter, since the race was a rather strenuous, rather joyless thing for them.
Like Kraill he had tossed up for his chance that morning he went to Klondyke whether to finish the whole miserable business in the lake and leave Marcella and the boy to go their way to England in peace, or whether to get drunk as usual. And tails had won. Cussedly he paid the cost.
"Most people husband and wife would not be able to talk about this sort of thing to each other. They'd hide and lie to each other." "We've both been weak and we've both been helped. And these demands we make of each other teach us so much. If Kraill had not demanded courage of me I'd he'd have had me. It's no use lying about it, is it?
Marcella, I believe you're thinking every minute about Kraill." "I can't help it," she said in a low voice. "They're good thoughts, now." He looked at her, and something about the droop of her shoulders contracted his throat, made a pain at his heart. "It's hard " he began. "It's a hunger, Louis. You understand it, don't you? But I can't buy it in a bottle!" "Marcella!" he cried passionately.
She frowned, and decided to return to that later. "Now philoprogenitive," she said turning to him. He stared at her, coughed again and held out his hand for the book. "That's rather a difficult book for a girl to be reading, isn't it?" he said, glancing at the title page. "Oh, Kraill the biologist? Whatever makes you read that? I thought girls read Mrs. Barclay and Charles Garvice."
I don't believe Kraill thinks like that, really I've read three of his courses of lectures and in all of them he doesn't seem to approve of women being like that. Just vehicles of existence or bundles of sensation. He seems, to me, to resent women." "Yes after many love adventures," he began. "But don't you think all the time he was just getting his education? Like I am?
Louis was dumb. After awhile, when she had thought and thought again, she said: "I'm a wretched coward to say these things to you. It makes it harder for you. But I can't help it. Kraill was right when he said I'd got to cracking-point. If I were heroic I'd lie down and be a beautiful invalid, waiting for a happy release. It would be easier for you if I could. Louis, I just can't.
She had forgotten Kraill in the intensity of her misery until, worn out by his ravings, Louis fell asleep. She knew, then, that he was safe for the rest of the night and she crept out silently into the cool cleanness of the garden, closing the door softly. Only his loud, stertorous breathing came to her with mutterings and groans.
She had prayed for the blazing Feet of God to walk along her life to Louis. Perhaps this dulness, this weariness was their first pressure. She turned to go out of the room and saw Kraill standing in the sunlight. He looked tired. "You've come back, then?" she said, and laughed suddenly at the futility of her words. "It's a very long way for you to come."
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