Only an old maid or
two . . . Why, I don't believe you believe in it really, father.
That's why you're so keen on making me believe. But I don't; it's no
use. You can't make me. I don't believe there's any God at all. If
there were a God he'd let a fellow have more free will . . ."
He was interrupted by an extraordinary cry. He turned to see his
father standing, one hand pressed back on the chair, his face white,
his eyes black and empty, like sightless eyes.
"Martin! That's blasphemy! . . . Take care! Take care! . . . Oh, my
son, my son! . . ."
Then he suddenly collapsed backwards, crouching on to the chair as
though he were trying to flee from some danger. Martin sprang
towards him. He caught him round the body, holding him to him--
something was leaping like a furious animal inside his father's
breast.
"What is it?" he cried, desperately frightened.
"It's my heart," Warlock answered in a voice very soft and distant.
"Bad . . . Excitement . . . Ring that bell . . . Amy . . ."
A moment later Amy entered. She came quickly into the room, she said
nothing--only gave Martin one look.
Pages:
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370