Page 449 - sons-and-lovers

er. Having come home in the train with Newton, he called
and had a game of billiards with him in the Moon and Stars.
If he gave to Miriam the excuse of his men friends, he felt
quite justified. His mother began to be relieved. He always
told her where he had been.
During the summer Clara wore sometimes a dress of soft
cotton stuff with loose sleeves. When she lifted her hands,
her sleeves fell back, and her beautiful strong arms shone
out.
‘Half a minute,’ he cried. ‘Hold your arm still.’
He made sketches of her hand and arm, and the draw-
ings contained some of the fascination the real thing had
for him. Miriam, who always went scrupulously through
his books and papers, saw the drawings.
‘I think Clara has such beautiful arms,’ he said.
‘Yes! When did you draw them?’
‘On Tuesday, in the work-room. You know, I’ve got a cor-
ner where I can work. Often I can do every single thing they
need in the department, before dinner. Then I work for my-
self in the afternoon, and just see to things at night.’
‘Yes,’ she said, turning the leaves of his sketch-book.
Frequently he hated Miriam. He hated her as she bent
forward and pored over his things. He hated her way of
patiently casting him up, as if he were an endless psycholog-
ical account. When he was with her, he hated her for having
got him, and yet not got him, and he tortured her. She took
all and gave nothing, he said. At least, she gave no living
warmth. She was never alive, and giving off life. Looking
for her was like looking for something which did not exist.

Sons and Lovers