"
"Oh, I wouldn't? Well, suppose I try," she said, and sat
down. "I am not very intellagent, but if you put it clearly I
may grasp it. Perhaps you'd better speak slowly, also."
So, sitting there in my room, while the sea throbed in
tireless beats against the shore, while the light faded and the
stars issued, one by one, like a rash on the Face of the sky, I
told mother of my dreams. I intended, I said, to write Life as
it realy is, and not as supposed to be.
"It may in places be, ugly" I said, "but Truth is my
banner. The Truth is never ugly, because it is real. It is, for
instance, not ugly if a man is in love with the wife of another,
if it is real love, and not the passing fansy of a moment."
Mother opened her mouth, but did not say anything.
"There was a time," I said, "when I longed for things that
now have no value whatever to me. I cared for clothes and even
for the attentions of the Other Sex. But that has passed away,
mother. I have now no thought but for my Career."
I watched her face, and soon the dreadfull understanding
came to me. She, to, did not understand.
Pages:
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126