Prothero grimaced impatience. “Shall I NEVER teach you not to be a humbug, Benham?” he screamed, and in screaming became calmer. “Nature taunts me, maddens me. My life is becoming a hell of shame. 'Get out from all these books,' says Nature, 'and serve the Flesh.' The Flesh, Benham. Yes--I insist--the Flesh. Do I look like a pure spirit? Is any man a pure spirit? And here am I at Cambridge like a lark in a cage, with too much port and no Aspasia. Not that I should have liked Aspasia.” “Mutual, perhaps, Billy.” “Oh! you can sneer!” “Well, clearly--Saint Paul is my authority--it's marriage, Billy.” Prothero had walked to the window. He turned round. “I CAN'T marry,” he said. “The trouble has gone too far. I've lost my nerve in the presence of women. I don't like them any more. They come at one--done up in a lot of ridiculous clothes, and chattering about all sorts of things that don't matter....” He surveyed his friend's thoughtful attitude. “I'm getting to hate women, Benham. I'm beginning now to understand the bitterness of spinsters against men. I'm beginning to grasp the unkindliness of priests. The perpetual denial. To you, happily married, a woman is just a human being. You can talk to her, like her, you can even admire her calmly; you've got, you see, no grudge against her....” He sat down abruptly. Benham, upon the hearthrug before the empty fireplace, considered him. “Billy! this is delusion,” he said. “What's come over you?” “I'm telling you,” said Prothero. “No,” said Benham. Prothero awaited some further utterance. “I'm looking for the cause of it. It's feeding, Billy. It's port and stimulants where there is no scope for action. It's idleness. I begin to see now how much fatter you are, how much coarser.” “Idleness! Look at this pile of examination answers. Look at that filing system like an arsenal of wisdom. Useless wisdom, I admit, but anyhow not idleness.” “There's still bodily idleness. No. That's your trouble. You're stuffy. You've enlarged your liver. You sit in this room of a warm morning after an extravagant breakfast--. And peep and covet.” “Just eggs and bacon!” “Think of it! Coffee and toast it ought to be. Come out of it, Billy, and get aired.” “How can one?” “Easily. Come out of it now. Come for a walk, you Pig!” “It's an infernally warm morning. “Walk with me to Grantchester.” “We might go by boat. You could row.” “WALK.” “I ought to do these papers.” “You weren't doing them.” “No....” “Walk with me to Grantchester. All this affliction of yours is--horrid--and just nothing at all. Come out of it! I want you to come with me to Russia and about the world. I'm going to leave my wife--” “Leave your wife!” “Why not? And I came here hoping to find you clear-headed, and instead you are in this disgusting state. I've never met anything in my life so hot and red and shiny and shameless. Come out of it, man! How can one talk to you?” 10