"Yes. She knew what she wanted. She spent her whole life trying to get it. She went straight for that one thing. Didn't care a hang what anybody thought of her." "So they said poor Charlotte was mad." "She was only mad because she didn't get it." "Yes, Minx.... Would poor Minky like to be married?" "No. I'm not thinking about that. I'd like to write poems. And to get away sometimes and see places. To get away from Mamma." "You little beast." "Not more beast than you. You got away. Altogether. I believe you knew." "Knew what?" Mark's face was stiff and red. He was angry now. "That if you stayed you'd be crushed. Like Roddy. Like me." "I knew nothing of the sort." "Deep down inside you you knew. You were afraid. That's why you wanted to be a soldier. So as not to be afraid. So as to get away altogether." "You little devil. You're lying. Lying." He threw his words at you softly, so as not to hurt you. "Lying. Because you're a beast to Mamma you'd like to think I'm a beast, too." "No--no." She could feel herself making it out more and more. Flash after flash. Till she knew him. She knew Mark. "You _had_ to. To get away from her, to get away from her sweetness and gentleness so that you could be yourself; so that you could be a man." She had a tremendous flash. "You haven't got away altogether. Half of you still sticks. It'll never get away.... You'll never love anybody. You'll never marry." "No, I won't. You're right there." "Yes. Papa never got away. That was why he was so beastly to us." "He wasn't beastly to us." "He was. You know he was. You're only saying that because it's what Mamma would like you to say.... He couldn't help being beastly. He couldn't care for us. He couldn't care for anybody but Mamma." "That's why I care for _him_," Mark said. "I know.... None of it would have mattered if we'd been brought up right. But we were brought up all wrong. Taught that our selves were beastly, that our wills were beastly and that everything we liked was bad. Taught to sit on our wills, to be afraid of our selves and not trust them for a single minute.... Mamma was glad when I was jilted, because that was one for _me_." "Were you jilted?" "Yes. She thought it would make me humble. I always was. I am. I'm afraid of my self _now_. I can't trust it. I keep on asking people what they think when _I_ ought to _know_.... But I'm going to stop all that. I'm going to fight." "Fight little Mamma?" "No. Myself. The bit of me that claws on to her and can't get away. My body'll stay here and take care of her all her life, but my _self_ will have got away. It'll get away from all of them. It's got bits of them sticking to it, bits of Mamma, bits of Papa, bits of Roddy, bits of Aunt Charlotte. Bits of you, Mark. I don't _want_ to get away from you, but I shall have to. You'd kick me down and stamp on me if you thought it would please Mamma. There mayn't be much left when I'm done, but at least it'll be me."