It is what Hermione STANDS FOR
that I HATE. I HATE it. It is lies, it is false, it is death. But you
want it, you can't help it, you can't help yourself. You belong to that
old, deathly way of living--then go back to it. But don't come to me,
for I've nothing to do with it.'
And in the stress of her violent emotion, she got down from the car and
went to the hedgerow, picking unconsciously some flesh-pink
spindleberries, some of which were burst, showing their orange seeds.
'Ah, you are a fool,' he cried, bitterly, with some contempt.
'Yes, I am. I AM a fool. And thank God for it. I'm too big a fool to
swallow your cleverness. God be praised. You go to your women--go to
them--they are your sort--you've always had a string of them trailing
after you--and you always will. Go to your spiritual brides--but don't
come to me as well, because I'm not having any, thank you. You're not
satisfied, are you? Your spiritual brides can't give you what you want,
they aren't common and fleshy enough for you, aren't they? So you come
to me, and keep them in the background! You will marry me for daily
use.
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