"That's rather unusual for a
sailor. They always seemed to me the least vindictive body of men in the
world."
"H'm! Simple souls," Marlow muttered moodily. "Want of opportunity. The
world leaves them alone for the most part. For myself it's towards women
that I feel vindictive mostly, in my small way. I admit that it is
small. But then the occasions in themselves are not great. Mainly I
resent that pretence of winding us round their dear little fingers, as of
right. Not that the result ever amounts to much generally. There are so
very few momentous opportunities. It is the assumption that each of us
is a combination of a kid and an imbecile which I find provoking--in a
small way; in a very small way. You needn't stare as though I were
breathing fire and smoke out of my nostrils. I am not a women-devouring
monster. I am not even what is technically called "a brute." I hope
there's enough of a kid and an imbecile in me to answer the requirements
of some really good woman eventually--some day . . . Some day. Why do
you gasp? You don't suppose I should be afraid of getting married? That
supposition would be offensive .
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