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349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
145
"Even
if
she
were
a
whore,"
I
said,
"it's
a
pity
your
curiosity
was
so
sluggish.
You
should
have
seen
her
home,
even
if
you
did
not
go
home
with
her.
Young
man,
you
preferred
to
let
go
of
authentic
life
at
Hammersmith
Broadway,
so
as
to
return
at
once
to
your
precious
water-colour
painting."
"Perhaps,"
replied
he
enigmatically.
"Whatever
you
do,
if
ever
you
meet
her
again,"
I
rejoined,
"don't
introduce
her
to
that
abominable
----.
He
is
abominably
handsome,
and
I
hate
him
for
it.
To
all
his
other
distinctions
he
is
welcome--parentage,
money,
success,
but
I
can
never
forgive
him
his
good
looks
and
the
inevitable
marriage
to
some
beautiful
fair-skinned
woman."
R.
(reflectively):
"Up
to
now,
I
was
inclined
to
think
that
envy
as
a
passion
did
not
exist."
"Have
you
none?"
"Not
much,"
he
answered,
and
I
believe
it.
"Smug
wretch,
then.
All
I
can
say
is,
I
may
have
instincts
and
passions
but
I
am
not
a
pale
water-colour
artist....
What's
the
matter
with
you,"
I
foamed,
"is
that
you
like
pictures.
If
I
showed
you
a
real
woman,
you
would
exclaim
contemplatively,
'How
lovely;'
then
putting
out
one
hand
to
touch
her,
unsuspectingly,
you'd
scream
aghast,
'Oh!
it's
alive,
I
hear
it
ticking.'
'Yes,
my
boy,'
I
answer
severely
with
a
flourish,
'That
is
a
woman's
heart.'"
R----
exploded
with
laughter
and
then
said,
"A
truce
to
your
desire
for
more
life,
for
actual
men
and
women.
...
I
know
this
that
last
night
I
would
not
have
exchanged
the
quiet
armchair
reading
the
last
chapter
of
Dostoieffsky's
The
Possessed
for
a
Balaclava
Charge."
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