The three dismal, sodden loafers (I could see them too; they hadn't
budged an inch) seemed to me to be watching her. Which was horrible.
Meantime Fyne was telling me rather remarkable things--for him. He
declared first it was a mercy in a sense. Then he asked me if it were
not real madness, to saddle one's existence with such a perpetual
reminder. The daily existence. The isolated sea-bound existence. To
bring such an additional strain into the solitude already trying enough
for two people was the craziest thing. Undesirable relations were bad
enough on shore. One could cut them or at least forget their existence
now and then. He himself was preparing to forget his brother-in-law's
existence as much as possible.
That was the general sense of his remarks, not his exact words. I
thought that his wife's brother's existence had never been very
embarrassing to him but that now of course he would have to abstain from
his allusions to the "son of the poet--you know." I said "yes, yes" in
the pauses because I did not want him to turn round; and all the time I
was watching the girl intently.
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