In the morning he woke up and thought about it, and for the
first time in his life, knew what it was to feel really acutely
irritable, in a misery of real bad temper. After bawling and
snarling at Tilly, he took himself off for very shame, to be
alone. And looking at the ashen fields and the putty roads, he
wondered what in the name of Hell he could do to get out of this
prickly sense of disgust and physical repulsion. And he knew
that this was the result of his glorious evening.
And his stomach did not want any more brandy. He went
doggedly across the fields with his terrier, and looked at
everything with a jaundiced eye.
The next evening found him back again in his place at the
"Red Lion", moderate and decent. There he sat and stubbornly
waited for what would happen next.
Did he, or did he not believe that he belonged to this world
of Cossethay and Ilkeston? There was nothing in it he wanted.
Yet could he ever get out of it? Was there anything in himself
that would carry him out of it? Or was he a dunderheaded baby,
not man enough to be like the other young fellows who drank a
good deal and wenched a little without any question, and were
satisfied.
He went on stubbornly for a time. Then the strain became too
great for him. A hot, accumulated consciousness was always awake
in his chest, his wrists felt swelled and quivering, his mind
became full of lustful images, his eyes seemed blood-flushed. He
fought with himself furiously, to remain normal. He did not seek
any woman. He just went on as if he were normal. Till he must
either take some action or beat his head against the wall.
Then he went deliberately to Ilkeston, in silence, intent and
beaten. He drank to get drunk. He gulped down the brandy, and
more brandy, till his face became pale, his eyes burning. And
still he could not get free. He went to sleep in drunken
unconsciousness, woke up at four o'clock in the morning and
continued drinking. He would get free. Gradually the
tension in him began to relax. He began to feel happy. His
riveted silence was unfastened, he began to talk and babble. He
was happy and at one with all the world, he was united with all
flesh in a hot blood-relationship. So, after three days of
incessant brandy-drinking, he had burned out the youth from his
blood, he had achieved this kindled state of oneness with all
the world, which is the end of youth's most passionate desire.
But he had achieved his satisfaction by obliterating his own
individuality, that which it depended on his manhood to preserve
and develop.