Page 192 - of-human-bondage-

to him. To him it was real life. It was a strange life, dark and
tortured, in which men and women showed to remorseless
eyes the evil that was in their hearts: a fair face concealed a
depraved mind; the virtuous used virtue as a mask to hide
their secret vice, the seeming-strong fainted within with
their weakness; the honest were corrupt, the chaste were
lewd. You seemed to dwell in a room where the night before
an orgy had taken place: the windows had not been opened
in the morning; the air was foul with the dregs of beer, and
stale smoke, and flaring gas. There was no laughter. At most
you sniggered at the hypocrite or the fool: the characters
expressed themselves in cruel words that seemed wrung out
of their hearts by shame and anguish.
Philip was carried away by the sordid intensity of it. He
seemed to see the world again in another fashion, and this
world too he was anxious to know. After the play was over he
went to a tavern and sat in the bright warmth with Hayward
to eat a sandwich and drink a glass of beer. All round were
little groups of students, talking and laughing; and here and
there was a family, father and mother, a couple of sons and
a girl; and sometimes the girl said a sharp thing, and the
father leaned back in his chair and laughed, laughed heart-
ily. It was very friendly and innocent. There was a pleasant
homeliness in the scene, but for this Philip had no eyes. His
thoughts ran on the play he had just come from.
‘You do feel it’s life, don’t you?’ he said excitedly. ‘You
know, I don’t think I can stay here much longer. I want to
get to London so that I can really begin. I want to have ex-
periences. I’m so tired of preparing for life: I want to live it

1 1