Everything deep in him he denied.

Paul hated his father for sitting sentimentalising over her.

He knew he would do it in the public-houses.

For the real tragedy went on in Morel in spite of himself.

Sometimes, later, he came down from his afternoon sleep, white and cowering.
"I HAVE been dreaming of thy mother," he said in a small voice.
"Have you, father?
When I dream of her it's always just as she was when she was well.