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Paul laughs too. ‘For all that, Ella, and joking apart, it’s a sign of the times.’
At which Ella cries out: ‘My God, Paul, if at any time during the last five years you’d asked me to have a baby, I’d have been so happy.’
The instinctive, startled movement of withdrawal from her. Then the deliberate careful answer, laughing: ‘But, Ella, it’s the principle of the thing. Men are no longer necessary.’
‘Oh, principles,’ says Ella, laughing. ‘You’re mad. I always said you were.’
At which he says, soberly: ‘Well, maybe you’re right. You are very sane, Ella. You always were. You say I’m mad. I know it. I get madder and madder. Sometimes I wonder why they don’t lock me up instead of my patients. And you get saner and saner. It’s your strength. You’ll have ice applied to your ovaries yet.’
At which she cries out, so hurt that she doesn’t care any longer how she sounds to him: ‘You are mad. Let me tell you I’d rather die than have a child like that. Don’t you know that ever since I’ve known you I’ve wanted to have your child? Ever since I’ve known you everything has been so joyful that …’ She sees his face, which instinctively rejects what she has just said. ‘Well, all right then. But supposing that is why you’ll ultimately turn out to be unnecessary — because you haven’t got any faith in what you are …’ His face is now startled and sad, but she is in full flood and doesn’t care. ‘You’ve never understood one simple thing — it’s so simple and ordinary that I don’t know why you don’t understand. Everything with you has been happy and easy and joyful, and you talk about women putting ice on their ovaries. Ice. Ovaries. What does it mean? Well, if you want to sign yourselves off the face of the earth then do it, I don’t care.’ At which he says, opening his arms, ‘Ella. Ella! Come here.’ She goes to him, he holds her, but in a moment he teases her: ‘But you see, I was right — when it comes to the point you openly admit it, you’d push us all off the edge of the earth and laugh.’
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