Huxley Aldous

1928 · rif. vita9577 — New York: The Modern Library 1928. Duodecimo red cloth hardcover black spine and upper cover labels gilt letters 514 pp ads. Fair with light sunning to spine and light soiling to covers and page edges; lower interior hinge starting. “You won’t be late” There was anxiety in Marjorie Carling’s voice there was something like entreaty. “No I won’t be late” said Walter unhappily and guiltily certain that he would be. Her voice annoyed him. It drawled a little it was too refined -- even in misery. “Not later than midnight.” She might have reminded him of the time when he never went out in the evenings without her. She might have done so; but she wouldn’t; it was against her principles; she didn’t want to force his love in any way. “Well call it one. You know what these parties are.” But as a matter of fact she didn’t know for the good reason that not being his wife she wasn’t invited to them. She had left her husband to live with Walter Bidlake; and Carling who had Christian scruples was feebly a sadist and wanted to take his revenge refused to divorce her. It was two years now since they had begun to live together. Only two years; and now already he had ceased to love her he had begun to love someone else. The sin was losing its only excuse the social discomfort its sole palliation. And she was with child. “Half-past twelve” she implored though she knew that her importunity would only annoy him only make him love her the less. But she could not prevent herself from speaking; she loved him too much she was too agonizingly jealous. The words broke out of her in spite of her principles. It would have been better for her and perhaps for Walter too if she had had fewer principles and given her feelings the violent expression they demanded. But she had been well brought up in habits of the strictest self-control. Only the uneducated she knew made “scenes.” An imploring “Half-past twelve Walter” was all that managed to break through her principles. Too weak to move him the feeble outburst would only annoy. She knew it and yet she could not hold her tongue. The Modern Library, (1928). hardcover books