takes a man for her use, for her
service. This is Eve. Ah, I hate Eve. I hate her, when she knows, and
when she WILLS. I hate her when she will make of me that which serves
her desire.--She may love me, she may be soft and kind to me, she may
give her life for me. But why? Only because I am HERS. I am that thing
which does her most intimate service. She can see no other in me. And I
may be no other to her--"

"Then why not let it be so, and be satisfied?" said Lilly.

"Because I cannot. I cannot. I would. But I cannot. The Borghesia--the
citizens--the bourgeoisie, they are the ones who can. Oh, yes. The
bourgeoisie, the shopkeepers, these serve their wives so, and their
wives love them. They are the marital maquereaux--the husband-maquereau,
you know. Their wives are so stout and happy, and they dote on their
husbands and always betray them. So it is with the bourgeoise. She loves
her husband so much, and is always seeking to betray him. Or she is a
Madame Bovary, seeking for a scandal. But the bourgeois husband, he goes
on being the same. He is the horse, and she the driver. And when she
says gee-up, you know--then he comes ready, like a hired maquereau. Only
he feels so good, like a good little boy at her breast. And then there
are the nice little children. And so they keep the world going.--But for
me--" he spat suddenly and with frenzy on the floor.

"You are quite right, my boy," said Argyle. "You are quite right.
They've got the start of us, the women: and we've got to canter when
they say gee-up. I--oh, I went through it all. But I broke the shafts
and smashed the matrimonial cart, I can tell you, and I didn't care
whether I smashed her up along with it or not. I didn't care one single
bit, I assure you.--And here I am. And she is dead and buried these
dozen years. Well--well! Life, you know, life. And women oh, they are
the very hottest hell once they get the start of you. There's NOTHING
they won't do to you, once they've got you. Nothing they won't do to
you. Especially if they love you. Then you may as well give up the
ghost: or smash the cart behind you, and her in it. Otherwise she will
just harry you into submission, and make a dog of you, and cuckold you
under your nose. And you'll submit. Oh, you'll submit, and go on calling
her my darling. Or else, if you won't submit, she'll do for you. Your
only chance is to smash the shafts, and the whole matrimonial cart. Or
she'll do for you. For a woman has an u