instinct, so naturally the straight road and the narrow gate are right for him. You’ll see he’ll be an English Man of Letters before he’s done, A.B.C. from top to toe. Then there’s me. I’m nothing. Just a squib. And what about you, Clifford? Do you think sex is a dynamo to help a man on to success in the world?”
Clifford rarely talked much at these times. He never held forth; his ideas were really not vital enough for it, he was too confused and emotional. Now he blushed and looked uncomfortable.
“Well!” he said, “being myself hors de combat, I don’t see I’ve anything to say on the matter.”
“Not at all,” said Dukes; “the top of you’s by no means hors de combat. You’ve got the life of the mind sound and intact. So let us hear your ideas.”
“Well,” stammered Clifford, “even then I don’t suppose I have much idea … I suppose marry-and-have-done-with-it would pretty well stand for what I think. Though of course between a man and woman who care for one another, it is a great thing.”
“What sort of great thing?” said Tommy.
“Oh … it perfects the intimacy,” said Clifford, uneasy as a woman in such talk.
“Well, Charlie and I believe that sex is a sort of communication like speech. Let any woman start a sex conversation with me, and it’s natural for me to go to bed with her to finish it, all in due season. Unfortunately no woman makes any particular start with me, so I go to bed by myself; and am none the worse for it. … I hope so anyway, for how should I know? Anyhow I’ve no starry calculations to be interfered with, and no immortal works to write. I’m merely a fellow skulking in the army. …”