I am a physical coward until I can bring
shame and anger to my assistance, but in overcoming fear I have been
helped by the whole body of human tradition. Every one, the basest
creatures, every Hottentot, every stunted creature that ever
breathed poison in a slum, knows that the instinctive constitution
of man is at fault here and that fear is shameful and must be
subdued. The race is on one's side. And so there is a vast
traditional support for a man against the Second Limitation, the
limitation of physical indulgence. It is not so universal as the
first, there is a grinning bawling humour on the side of grossness,
but common pride is against it. And in this matter my temperament
has been my help: I am fastidious, I eat little, drink little, and
feel a shivering recoil from excess. It is no great virtue; it
happens so; it is something in the nerves of my skin. I cannot
endure myself unshaven or in any way unclean; I am tormented by
dirty hands or dirty blood or dirty memories, and after I had once
loved Amanda I could not--unless some irrational impulse to get
equal with her had caught me--have broken my faith to her, whatever
breach there was in her faith to me.
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