Their life seemed to accord them perfect satisfaction; they were supplied
with their convictions by Society just as, when at home, they were
supplied with all the other necessaries of life by some co-operative
stores.
"Why should Oi give up me only pleasure to keep me wretched life in? If
you've anything left worth the keeping shober for, keep shober by all
means; if not, the sooner you are dhrunk the better--that stands to
reason."
These letters of his were the most amazing portion of that fortnight.
They were remarkable for failing to express any single one of his real
thoughts, but they were full of sentiments which were not what he was
truly feeling; and when he set himself to analyse, he had such moments of
delirium that he was scared, and shocked, and quite unable to write
anything. He made the discovery that no two human beings ever tell each
other what they really feel.
There was nothing in that book to startle him or make him think.
And yet they were kind--that is, fairly kind--and clean and quiet in the
house, except when they laughed, which was often, and at things which
made him want to howl as a dog howls at music.