selection. You just wouldn't let the wrong sort of fellow touch you.'
She thought of Michaelis! He was absolutely Clifford's idea of the
wrong sort of fellow.
`But men and women may have different feelings about the wrong sort of
fellow,' she said.
`No,' he replied. `You care for me. I don't believe you would ever care
for a man who was purely antipathetic to me. Your rhythm wouldn't let you.'
She was silent. Logic might be unanswerable because it was so
absolutely wrong.
`And should you expect me to tell you?' she asked, glancing up at him
almost furtively.
`Not at all, I'd better not know...But you do agree with me, don't you,
that the casual sex thing is nothing, compared to the long life lived
together? Don't you think one can just subordinate the sex thing to the
necessities of a long life? Just use it, since that's what we're driven to?
After all, do these temporary excitements matter? Isn't the whole problem of
life the slow building up of an integral personality, through the years?
living an integrated life? There's no point in a disintegrated life. If lack
of sex is going to disintegrate you, then go out and have a love-affair. If
lack of a child is going to disintegrate you, then have a child if you
possibly can. But only do these things so that you have an integrated life,
that makes a long harmonious thing. And you and I can do that
together...don't you think?...if we adapt ourselves to the necessities, and
at the same time weave the adaptation together into a piece with our
steadily-lived life. Don't you agree?'
Connie was a little overwhelmed by his words. She knew he was right
theoretically. But when she actually touched her steadily-lived life with
him she...hesitated. Was it actually her destiny to go on weaving herself
into his life all the rest of her life? Nothing else?
Was it just that? She was to be content to weave a steady life with
him, all one fabric, but perhaps brocaded with the occasional flower of an
adventure. But how could she know what she would feel next year? How could
one ever know? How could one say Yes? for years and years? The little yes,
gone on a breath! Why should one be pinned down by that butterfly word? Of
course it had to flutter away and be gone, to be followed by other yes's and
no's! Like the straying of butterflies.
`I think you're right, Clifford. And as far as I can see I agree with
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