Page 37 - sons-and-lovers

She stiffened herself, with clenched fists.
‘The house is filthy with you,’ she cried.
‘Then get out on it—it’s mine. Get out on it!’ he shouted.
‘It’s me as brings th’ money whoam, not thee. It’s my house,
not thine. Then ger out on’t—ger out on’t!’
‘And I would,’ she cried, suddenly shaken into tears of
impotence. ‘Ah, wouldn’t I, wouldn’t I have gone long ago,
but for those children. Ay, haven’t I repented not going years
ago, when I’d only the one’—suddenly drying into rage. ‘Do
you think it’s for YOU I stop—do you think I’d stop one
minute for YOU?’
‘Go, then,’ he shouted, beside himself. ‘Go!’
‘No!’ She faced round. ‘No,’ she cried loudly, ‘you shan’t
have it ALL your own way; you shan’t do ALL you like. I’ve
got those children to see to. My word,’ she laughed, ‘I should
look well to leave them to you.’
‘Go,’ he cried thickly, lifting his fist. He was afraid of her.
‘Go!’
‘I should be only too glad. I should laugh, laugh, my lord,
if I could get away from you,’ she replied.
He came up to her, his red face, with its bloodshot eyes,
thrust forward, and gripped her arms. She cried in fear of
him, struggled to be free. Coming slightly to himself, pant-
ing, he pushed her roughly to the outer door, and thrust her
forth, slotting the bolt behind her with a bang. Then he went
back into the kitchen, dropped into his armchair, his head,
bursting full of blood, sinking between his knees. Thus he
dipped gradually into a stupor, from exhaustion and intoxi-
cation.

Sons and Lovers