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Updated: May 2, 2025
And I have vowed to myself that never should child of mine have cause to reproach me for selfishness that takes a guise which might well deceive those who have nothing but the animal instincts to give them joy in living." "You will never have children?" asked Geisner. "I will never marry," she answered.
He turned round, agitated in thought, and his glance fell on Geisner, who was standing with bent head, his hands behind him, ugly, impassive. Geisner looked up quickly: "So you are doubting already," he remarked. "I am not doubting," answered Ned. "I'm only thinking." "Well?" "It is a good thought, that Socialism," answered Ned slowly, as they walked on.
The father lay on his side smoking, the mother was giving a nursing baby its dinner, one little child lay asleep under a tree and two or three wore were playing near at hand. "That reminds me of Paris," remarked Geisner, watching them. "I suppose you are French?" "No. I've been in France considerably." "It's a beautiful country, isn't it?" "All countries are beautiful in their way.
Not bad for a dress-making girl who lives in a Sydney back street and sometimes works sixteen hours a day, is it?" "Well, no. Only you must recollect, Stratton, that if she's been in your place pretty often, most of the people she meets here must have given her a wrinkle or two." "You're always in opposition, Geisner," declared Mrs. Stratton.
The smile said plainly: "It really doesn't matter, does it?" Ned, fuming inwardly, thought it certainly did not. What a waste of words when the world outside needed deeds! This verbiage was as empty as the tobacco smoke which began to hang about the room in bluish clouds. Suddenly Mrs. Stratton stood up. "Geisner!" she cried. "I'm ashamed of you.
To be heartless, to be cold, to be vicious and a hypocrite, to smother all one's higher self, to be sold, to sell one's self, to pander to evil passions, to be the slave of the slave, that is the way to survive most easily for a woman. And see what we are in spite of everything! Geisner said he would sometimes be proud if he were an Englishman. Sometimes I'm foolish enough to be proud I'm a woman.
"Here, I say," protested Ford. "Aren't you coming it a little too strong? You've got the floor, Geisner. I've heard you stand up for English Art. Stand up now, won't you?" "Does it need standing up for?" asked Geisner. "Why, Connie doesn't forget that Puritanism with all its faults was in its day a religious movement, that is an emotional fervour, a veritable poem.
He had pulled out his knife and was digging a little hole among the grass roots. Geisner, who hardly moved except to roll cigarettes and light them, lay watching him. "I think she's made you a Socialist," he answered, smiling. "I suppose so," answered Ned, gravely.
Geisner is off again on Monday or Tuesday." "Tuesday," said Geisner, who had gone to the book-shelf again. "Then I'll come Monday evening," said Nellie, for his tone was an invitation. "I feel like a walk, and I don't feel like talking much." "All right," said Connie, not pressing, with true tact. "Will you come on Monday too, Ned?" she asked, moving to the door under the hangings with Nellie.
"You know what being a Socialist means, Ned?" asked Geisner, looking into the young man's eyes. "I've got a notion," said Ned, looking straight back. "There are socialists and Socialists, just as there is socialism and Socialism. The ones babble of what they do not feel because it's becoming the thing to babble. The others have a religion and that religion is Socialism."
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