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.
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