Page 623 - sons-and-lovers

had what she wanted, and really, at the bottom of her heart,
wished to be given back.
Paul felt crumpled up and lonely. His mother had really
supported his life. He had loved her; they two had, in fact,
faced the world together. Now she was gone, and for ever
behind him was the gap in life, the tear in the veil, through
which his life seemed to drift slowly, as if he were drawn
towards death. He wanted someone of their own free initia-
tive to help him. The lesser things he began to let go from
him, for fear of this big thing, the lapse towards death, fol-
lowing in the wake of his beloved. Clara could not stand for
him to hold on to. She wanted him, but not to understand
him. He felt she wanted the man on top, not the real him
that was in trouble. That would be too much trouble to her;
he dared not give it her. She could not cope with him. It
made him ashamed. So, secretly ashamed because he was
in such a mess, because his own hold on life was so unsure,
because nobody held him, feeling unsubstantial, shadowy,
as if he did not count for much in this concrete world, he
drew himself together smaller and smaller. He did not want
to die; he would not give in. But he was not afraid of death.
If nobody would help, he would go on alone.
Dawes had been driven to the extremity of life, until he
was afraid. He could go to the brink of death, he could lie on
the edge and look in. Then, cowed, afraid, he had to crawl
back, and like a beggar take what offered. There was a cer-
tain nobility in it. As Clara saw, he owned himself beaten,
and he wanted to be taken back whether or not. That she
could do for him. It was three o’clock.

Sons and Lovers