The Forsyte Saga - Volume 1

They sat in silence.

And Soames thought: 'Why is all this? Why should I suffer so? What have

I done? It is not my fault!'

Again he looked at her, huddled like a bird that is shot and dying,

whose poor breast you see panting as the air is taken from it, whose

poor eyes look at you who have shot it, with a slow, soft, unseeing

look, taking farewell of all that is good--of the sun, and the air, and

its mate.

So they sat, by the firelight, in the silence, one on each side of the

hearth.

And the fume of the burning cedar logs, that he loved so well, seemed to

grip Soames by the throat till he could bear it no longer. And going

out into the hall he flung the door wide, to gulp down the cold air that

came in; then without hat or overcoat went out into the Square.

Along the garden rails a half-starved cat came rubbing her way towards

him, and Soames thought: 'Suffering! when will it cease, my suffering?'

At a front door across the way was a man of his acquaintance named

Rutter, scraping his boots, with an air of 'I am master here.' And

Soames walked on.

From far in the clear air the bells of the church where he and Irene had

been married were pealing in 'practice' for the advent of Christ, the

chimes ringing out above the sound of traffic. He felt a craving for

strong drink, to lull him to indifference, or rouse him to fury. If only

he could burst out of himself, out of this web that for the first

time in his life he felt around him. If only he could surrender to the

thought: 'Divorce her--turn her out! She has forgotten you. Forget her!'

If only he could surrender to the thought: 'Let her go--she has suffered

enough!'

If only he could surrender to the desire: 'Make a slave of her--she is

in your power!'

If only even he could surrender to the sudden vision: 'What does it all

matter?' Forget himself for a minute, forget that it mattered what he

did, forget that whatever he did he must sacrifice something.

If only he could act on an impulse!

He could forget nothing; surrender to no thought, vision, or desire; it

was all too serious; too close around him, an unbreakable cage.

On the far side of the Square newspaper boys were calling their evening

wares, and the ghoulish cries mingled and jangled with the sound of

those church bells.

Soames covered his ears. The thought flashed across him that but for

a chance, he himself, and not Bosinney, might be lying dead, and she,

instead of crouching there like a shot bird with those dying eyes....