Page 65 - sons-and-lovers

self most; and he was the more damaged because he would
never say a word to her, or express his sorrow. He tried to
wriggle out of it. ‘It was her own fault,’ he said to himself.
Nothing, however, could prevent his inner consciousness
inflicting on him the punishment which ate into his spirit
like rust, and which he could only alleviate by drinking.
He felt as if he had not the initiative to get up, or to say
a word, or to move, but could only lie like a log. Moreover,
he had himself violent pains in the head. It was Saturday.
Towards noon he rose, cut himself food in the pantry, ate it
with his head dropped, then pulled on his boots, and went
out, to return at three o’clock slightly tipsy and relieved;
then once more straight to bed. He rose again at six in the
evening, had tea and went straight out.
Sunday was the same: bed till noon, the Palmerston
Arms till 2.30, dinner, and bed; scarcely a word spoken.
When Mrs. Morel went upstairs, towards four o’clock, to
put on her Sunday dress, he was fast asleep. She would have
felt sorry for him, if he had once said, ‘Wife, I’m sorry.’ But
no; he insisted to himself it was her fault. And so he broke
himself. So she merely left him alone. There was this dead-
lock of passion between them, and she was stronger.
The family began tea. Sunday was the only day when all
sat down to meals together.
‘Isn’t my father going to get up?’ asked William.
‘Let him lie,’ the mother replied.
There was a feeling of misery over all the house. The
children breathed the air that was poisoned, and they felt
dreary. They were rather disconsolate, did not know what

Sons and Lovers