"
"I didn't say that."
"'An untested hypothesis,'" he quoted teasingly, but with a stirring
anger.
"I don't know about that, either. We're both bound by our profession
to admit an empirical test. And if we human beings can't survive
without God----"
"But we can--we do."
"I can't."
He threw up his head.
"Why do women always become personal when they argue?"
"And why do rationalists always become irrational?"
They walked on slowly, apart, vaguely afraid. He wanted to change the
subject, to take her by the arm and hold her fast. For she was
drifting away from him. Her voice sounded remote and troubling, like a
little old tune that he could not quite remember. Its emotion fretted
his overstrained nerves. He wanted to close his ears against it. It
was a trivial tune which might become a torment.
"It's not only me. It's everyone. Most of us are frightfully unhappy.
Don't you realize that? And the more we understand life the more
desperate we get. Savages and children may do without a god, but we
can't. We know too much. Even the stupidest--the most careless of us.
Think of Howard and Gertie and all that lot. Every second word is
'What's the good? What's it all about?' They make a great deal of
noise to cover up their unhappiness. They're terrified of loneliness
and silence. And one day it'll have to be faced."
"Oh, if you're going to take Howard as an example--" he interrupted.
"--and Rufus Cosgrave," she added.
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