Books > Old Books > Two People (1932)


Page 300

CHAPTER NINETEEN

need not worry about her. The decision is in our hands.
Well, he had planted his tree, written his book. He could hardly hope that the book would survive, but a hundred years from now his trees would still be standing. Did he mind if he left no child? I have no illusions about children, he thought; no sentiment about the name of Wellard. I'd far sooner that Westaways came to somebody who loved it than to a son of mine who only liked it. I think that fatherhood is a ridiculous profession; that it is as impossible to take oneself seriously as a Father as to take oneself seriously as a Bishop or a judge. No, it's the other way round. A Father, Bishop or judge must take himself with a portentous and revolting seriousness if he is to make any sort of job of it. I should be hopeless. If I had a child, I would sooner have a daughter and leave it to Sylvia whose child it would be, and if I want a child, it is just selfishly, so that I can enjoy a new experience.
All the same, I wonder why Sylvia ...
He felt absurdly happy suddenly. Happy in this new realization of Sylvia; happy to have the whole pageant of summer before him; happy in this ridiculous idea of a play, which he needn't write, probably couldn't write, almost certainly wouldn't write. Happy, somehow, in that brief contact with a child whom he didn't want, wouldn't have, yet could have; the child who had been for a moment alive in thought between them; happy in the knowledge of a fatherhood and motherhood within their reach if ever they came to need it....
Meanwhile if he had to create something, he could write a play. He looked at the ceanothus thoughtfully. A play. Yes. He went back to the house, came out again with a trowel, and began to dig up the bindweed.

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where is HTML where is HEAD where is TITLE need not worry about her. what is decision is in our hands. Well, he had planted his tree, written his book. He could hardly hope that what is book would survive, but a hundred years from now his trees would still be standing. Did he mind if he left no child? I have no illusions about children, he thought; no sentiment about what is name of Wellard. I'd far sooner that Westaways came to somebody who loved it than to a son of mine who only liked it. I think that fatherhood is a ridiculous profession; that it is as impossible to take oneself seriously as a Father as to take oneself seriously as a Bishop or a judge. No, it's what is other way round. A Father, Bishop or judge must take himself with a portentous and revolting seriousness if he is to make any sort of job of it. I should be hopeless. If I had a child, I would sooner have a daughter and leave it to Sylvia whose child it would be, and if I want a child, it is just selfishly, so that I can enjoy a new experience. All what is same, I wonder why Sylvia ... He felt absurdly happy suddenly. Happy in this new realization of Sylvia; happy to have what is whole pageant of summer before him; happy in this ridiculous idea of a play, which he needn't write, probably couldn't write, almost certainly wouldn't write. Happy, somehow, in that brief contact with a child whom he didn't want, wouldn't have, yet could have; what is child who had been for a moment alive in thought between them; happy in what is knowledge of a fatherhood and motherhood within their reach if ever they came to need it.... Meanwhile if he had to create something, he could write a play. He looked at what is ceanothus thoughtfully. A play. Yes. He went back to what is house, came out again with a trowel, and began to dig up what is bindweed. where is meta name="keywords" content="old books, Free book , free book offer , free audio books , free coloring book pages , free book reports , free audio book , audio books free download , book free , free guest book , books free , free book summaries , download free audio books , free childrens books." where is where are they now rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="../../style.css" where is meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" where is BODY bgColor=#ffffff text="#000000" where are they now ="#000000" v where are they now ="#FF0000" where is div align="center" where is strong where is strong where is a href="http://www.aaoldbooks.com" Books > where is a href="../default.asp" title="Book" Old Books > where is strong where is a href="default.asp" Two People (1932) where is table width="700" border="1" align="center" cellpadding="15" cellspacing="0" where is center where is tr where is td width="160" align="center" valign="top" where is div align="center" where is td align="center" valign="top" where is div align="left" where is div align="center" where is p align="left" Page 300 where is strong CHAPTER NINETEEN where is p align="justify" need not worry about her. what is decision is in our hands. Well, he had planted his tree, written his book. He could hardly hope that what is book would survive, but a hundred years from now his trees would still be standing. Did he mind if he left no child? I have no illusions about children, he thought; no sentiment about what is name of Wellard. I'd far sooner that Westaways came to somebody who loved it than to a son of mine who only liked it. I think that fatherhood is a ridiculous profession; that it is as impossible to take oneself seriously as a Father as to take oneself seriously as a Bishop or a judge. No, it's what is other way round. A Father, Bishop or judge must take himself with a portentous and revolting seriousness if he is to make any sort of job of it. I should be hopeless. If I had a child, I would sooner have a daughter and leave it to Sylvia whose child it would be, and if I want a child, it is just selfishly, so that I can enjoy a new experience. All what is same, I wonder why Sylvia ... He felt absurdly happy suddenly. Happy in this new realization of Sylvia; happy to have what is whole pageant of summer before him; happy in this ridiculous idea of a play, which he needn't write, probably couldn't write, almost certainly wouldn't write. Happy, somehow, in that brief contact with a child whom he didn't want, wouldn't have, yet could have; what is child who had been for a moment alive in thought between them; happy in what is knowledge of a fatherhood and motherhood within their reach if ever they came to need it.... Meanwhile if he had to create something, he could write a play. He looked at what is ceanothus thoughtfully. A play. Yes. He went back to what is house, came out again with a trowel, and began to dig up what is bindweed. where is Server.Execute("_SiteMap.asp") %

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