Page 287 - sons-and-lovers

look at, and handsome. There was a peculiar similarity be-
tween himself and his wife. He had the same white skin,
with a clear, golden tinge. His hair was of soft brown, his
moustache was golden. And he had a similar defiance in
his bearing and manner. But then came the difference. His
eyes, dark brown and quick-shifting, were dissolute. They
protruded very slightly, and his eyelids hung over them in
a way that was half hate. His mouth, too, was sensual. His
whole manner was of cowed defiance, as if he were ready
to knock anybody down who disapproved of him—perhaps
because he really disapproved of himself.
From the first day he had hated Paul. Finding the lad’s
impersonal, deliberate gaze of an artist on his face, he got
into a fury.
‘What are yer lookin’ at?’ he sneered, bullying.
The boy glanced away. But the smith used to stand be-
hind the counter and talk to Mr. Pappleworth. His speech
was dirty, with a kind of rottenness. Again he found the
youth with his cool, critical gaze fixed on his face. The smith
started round as if he had been stung.
‘What’r yer lookin’ at, three hap’orth o’ pap?’ he snarled.
The boy shrugged his shoulders slightly.
‘Why yer—-!’ shouted Dawes.
‘Leave him alone,’ said Mr. Pappleworth, in that insinu-
ating voice which means, ‘He’s only one of your good little
sops who can’t help it.’
Since that time the boy used to look at the man every
time he came through with the same curious criticism,
glancing away before he met the smith’s eye. It made Dawes

Sons and Lovers