Divorce -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; Marriage -- Fiction
On the whole they were probably too hard on the Giant; they did not
allow enough for the difficulties involved in being so big, so
lumbering, so complex. They girded at him for not trying every
conceivable experiment; he grumbled back that he did not want to risk
explosion on a large scale. They laughed at him for not running; a
creature of his bulk was safer at a walk. They offered him all manner of
new concoctions; he feared indigestion on a mighty scale. Some of them
he dreaded and hated; at some he was much amused; for others he had a
slow-moving admiration--they might be right, he would take a generation
or two to think about it, and let them know in due course through his
accredited channels.
Of some of Stephen Aikenhead's friends it was a little difficult to
think as human beings; they seemed just embodied opinions. Doctor
Johnson once observed--and few will differ from him--that it would be
tiresome to be married to a woman who would be for ever talking of the
Arian heresy. Mrs. Danford, a bright-eyed, brisk-moving woman, was for
ever denouncing boys' schools. Dennis Carriston wanted the human race to
come to an end and, consistently enough, bored existing members of it
almost to their extinction or his murder. These were of the faddists;
but the majority did not fairly deserve that description. They were
workers, reformers, questioners, all of them earnest, many clever, some
even humorous (not such a very common thing in reformers), one or two
eminent in achievement. But questioners and speculators all of
them--with two notable exceptions, Mrs. Lenoir and Godfrey Ledstone.
These two had no quarrel with orthodox opinion, and a very great respect
for it; they would never have thought of justifying their deviations
from orthodox practice. They were prepared to pay their fines--if they
were caught--and did not cavil at the jurisdiction of the magistrate.
Godfrey Ledstone would have made a fine "man about town," that
unquestioning, untroubled, heathenish master of the arts and luxuries of
life. Chill penury--narrow means and the necessity of working--limited
his opportunities. Within them he was faithful to the type and obedient
to the code, availing himself of its elasticities, careful to observe it
where it was rigid; up to the present anyhow he could find no breach of
it with which to reproach himself.
He was committing no breach of it now. Not to do what he was doing
would in his own eyes have stamped him a booby, a fellow of ungracious
manners and defective sensibilities, a prude and a dolt.
The breeze stirred the trees; in leisurely fashion, unelbowed by rude
clouds, there sank the sun; a languorous tranquillity masked the fierce
struggle of beasts and men--men were ceasing from their labour, the lion
not yet seeking his meat from God.
"I shall go to my grave puzzled whether the profile or the full face is
better."
She stirred lazily on her long chair, and gave him the profile to
consider again.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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