Sons and Lovers - Daimon Club

"But I want you to be happy," she said pathetically.
"Eh, my dear--say rather you want me to live."
Mrs. Morel felt as if her heart would break for him.
At this rate she knew he would not live. He had that poignant
carelessness about himself, his own suffering, his own life,
which is a form of slow suicide. It almost broke her heart.
With all the passion of her strong nature she hated Miriam for having
in this subtle way undermined his joy. It did not matter to her
that Miriam could not help it. Miriam did it, and she hated her.
She wished so much he would fall in love with a girl equal
to be his mate--educated and strong. But he would not look at
anybody above him in station. He seemed to like Mrs. Dawes.
At any rate that feeling was wholesome. His mother prayed and prayed
for him, that he might not be wasted. That was all her prayer--not
for his soul or his righteousness, but that he might not be wasted.
And while he slept, for hours and hours she thought and prayed
for him.
He drifted away from Miriam imperceptibly, without knowing he
was going. Arthur only left the army to be married. The baby was
born six months after his wedding. Mrs. Morel got him a job under
the firm again, at twenty-one shillings a week. She furnished for him,
with the help of Beatrice's mother, a little cottage of two rooms.
He was caught now. It did not matter how he kicked and struggled,
he was fast. For a time he chafed, was irritable with his
young wife, who loved him; he went almost distracted when the baby,
which was delicate, cried or gave trouble. He grumbled for hours
to his mother. She only said: "Well, my lad, you did it yourself,
now you must make the best of it." And then the grit came out in him.
He buckled to work, undertook his responsibilities, acknowledged that
he belonged to his wife and child, and did make a good best of it.
He had never been very closely inbound into the family. Now he was
gone altogether.
The months went slowly along. Paul had more or less got into
connection with the Socialist, Suffragette, Unitarian people in
Nottingham, owing to his acquaintance with Clara. One day
a friend of his and of Clara's, in Bestwood, asked him to take
a message to Mrs. Dawes. He went in the evening across Sneinton
Market to Bluebell Hill. He found the house in a mean little street
paved with granite cobbles and having causeways of dark blue,
grooved bricks. The front door went up a step from off this
rough pavement, where the feet of the passersby rasped and clattered.
The brown paint on the door was so old that the naked wood showed
between the rents. He stood on the street below and knocked.
There came a heavy footstep; a large, stout woman of about sixty
towered above him. He looked up at her from the pavement.
She had a rather severe face.
She admitted him into the parlour, which opened on to the street.
It was a small, stuffy, defunct room, of mahogany, and deathly