Page 554 - sons-and-lovers

wanting to hide. He wore old clothes, the trousers were torn
at the knee, and the handkerchief tied round his throat was
dirty; but his cap was still defiantly over one eye. As she saw
him, Clara felt guilty. There was a tiredness and despair on
his face that made her hate him, because it hurt her.
‘He looks shady,’ said Paul.
But the note of pity in his voice reproached her, and
made her feel hard.
‘His true commonness comes out,’ she answered.
‘Do you hate him?’ he asked.
‘You talk,’ she said, ‘about the cruelty of women; I wish
you knew the cruelty of men in their brute force. They sim-
ply don’t know that the woman exists.’
‘Don’t I?’ he said.
‘No,’ she answered.
‘Don’t I know you exist?’
‘About ME you know nothing,’ she said bitterly—‘about
ME!’
‘No more than Baxter knew?’ he asked.
‘Perhaps not as much.’
He felt puzzled, and helpless, and angry. There she
walked unknown to him, though they had been through
such experience together.
‘But you know ME pretty well,’ he said.
She did not answer.
‘Did you know Baxter as well as you know me?’ he
asked.
‘He wouldn’t let me,’ she said.
‘And I have let you know me?’