I'm proud of them in a way--but I'm out so much, you
see."
Peter faced the contrast. Here this middle-aged man, with his two
girls--and here too he, Peter, with his agonising, flaming trial--to slip,
so soon, into dull commonplace?
"But didn't you--if you can look so far--didn't you, when the first child
came, funk it? Your responsibility I mean. All the things one's--one's
ancestors--it's frightening enough for oneself but to hand it on--"
"It's nothing to do with oneself--one's used, that's all. The child will be
on its own legs, thrusting you away before you know where you are. It
_will_ want to claim its responsibilities--ancestors and all--"
Peter said nothing--Maradick went on:
"You know we were talking one night and were interrupted--you're in danger
of letting the things you imagine beat the things you know. Stick to the
thing you can grasp, touch--I know the dangers of the others--I told you
that once in Cornwall, I--the most unlikely person in the world--was caught
up by it. I've never laughed at morbidity, or nerves, or insanity since.
There's such a jolly thin wall between the sanest, most level-headed
beef-eating Squire in the country and the maddest poet in Bedlam. _I_
know--I've been both in the same day. It's better to be both, I believe, if
you can keep one under the other, but you _must_ keep it under--"
Maradick talked on.
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