"Why shouldn't I break this ghastly silence by telling father out loud
here that he mustn't forget what I told him that night in the attic?
I'm going to be an architect. I'm not going to be any blooming printer.
I'm going to be an architect. Why haven't I mentioned it before? Why
haven't I talked about it all the time? Because I am an ass! Because
there is no word for what I am! Damn it! I suppose I'm the person to
choose what I'm going to be! I suppose it's my business more than his.
Besides, he can't possibly refuse me. If I say flatly that I won't be a
printer--he's done. This idea of writing a letter is just like me!
Coward! Coward! What's my tongue for? Can't I talk? Isn't he bound
to listen? All I have to do is to open my mouth. He's sitting there.
I'm sitting here. He can't eat me. I'm in my rights. Now suppose I
start on it as soon as Mrs Nixon has brought the pudding and pie in?"
And he waited anxiously to see whether he indeed would be able to make a
start after the departure of Mrs Nixon.
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