Page 73 - sons-and-lovers

This time, however, neither pills nor vitriol nor all his
herbs would shift the ‘nasty peens in his head”. He was sick-
ening for an attack of an inflammation of the brain. He had
never been well since his sleeping on the ground when he
went with Jerry to Nottingham. Since then he had drunk
and stormed. Now he fell seriously ill, and Mrs. Morel had
him to nurse. He was one of the worst patients imaginable.
But, in spite of all, and putting aside the fact that he was
breadwinner, she never quite wanted him to die. Still there
was one part of her wanted him for herself.
The neighbours were very good to her: occasionally some
had the children in to meals, occasionally some would do
the downstairs work for her, one would mind the baby for
a day. But it was a great drag, nevertheless. It was not every
day the neighbours helped. Then she had nursing of baby
and husband, cleaning and cooking, everything to do. She
was quite worn out, but she did what was wanted of her.
And the money was just sufficient. She had seventeen
shillings a week from clubs, and every Friday Barker and
the other butty put by a portion of the stall’s profits for Mo-
rel’s wife. And the neighbours made broths, and gave eggs,
and such invalids’ trifles. If they had not helped her so gen-
erously in those times, Mrs. Morel would never have pulled
through, without incurring debts that would have dragged
her down.
The weeks passed. Morel, almost against hope, grew bet-
ter. He had a fine constitution, so that, once on the mend,
he went straight forward to recovery. Soon he was pottering
about downstairs. During his illness his wife had spoilt him

Sons and Lovers