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the thought was, constantly recurring: if he held his hand it
was from fear. His uncle spoke.
‘You’re not looking forward to my death, Philip?’ Philip
felt his heart beat against his chest.
‘Good heavens, no.’
‘That’s a good boy. I shouldn’t like you to do that. You’ll
get a little bit of money when I pass away, but you mustn’t
look forward to it. It wouldn’t profit you if you did.’
He spoke in a low voice, and there was a curious anxiety
in his tone. It sent a pang into Philip’s heart. He wondered
what strange insight might have led the old man to surmise
what strange desires were in Philip’s mind.
‘I hope you’ll live for another twenty years,’ he said.
‘Oh, well, I can’t expect to do that, but if I take care of my-
self I don’t see why I shouldn’t last another three or four.’
He was silent for a while, and Philip found nothing to
say. Then, as if he had been thinking it all over, the old man
spoke again.
‘Everyone has the right to live as long as he can.’
Philip wanted to distract his mind.
‘By the way, I suppose you never hear from Miss Wilkin-
son now?’
‘Yes, I had a letter some time this year. She’s married, you
know.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, she married a widower. I believe they’re quite com-
fortable.’

0 Of Human Bondage