Page 66 - sons-and-lovers

to do, what to play at.
Immediately Morel woke he got straight out of bed. That
was characteristic of him all his life. He was all for activity.
The prostrated inactivity of two mornings was stifling him.
It was near six o’clock when he got down. This time he
entered without hesitation, his wincing sensitiveness hav-
ing hardened again. He did not care any longer what the
family thought or felt.
The tea-things were on the table. William was reading
aloud from ‘The Child’s Own’, Annie listening and asking
eternally ‘why?’ Both children hushed into silence as they
heard the approaching thud of their father’s stockinged feet,
and shrank as he entered. Yet he was usually indulgent to
them.
Morel made the meal alone, brutally. He ate and drank
more noisily than he had need. No one spoke to him. The
family life withdrew, shrank away, and became hushed as
he entered. But he cared no longer about his alienation.
Immediately he had finished tea he rose with alacrity to
go out. It was this alacrity, this haste to be gone, which so
sickened Mrs. Morel. As she heard him sousing heartily in
cold water, heard the eager scratch of the steel comb on the
side of the bowl, as he wetted his hair, she closed her eyes in
disgust. As he bent over, lacing his boots, there was a cer-
tain vulgar gusto in his movement that divided him from
the reserved, watchful rest of the family. He always ran
away from the battle with himself. Even in his own heart’s
privacy, he excused himself, saying, ‘If she hadn’t said so-
and-so, it would never have happened. She asked for what