easily do without the pits。〃
He smiled； unfortably； cynically。 Ursula felt again the
revolt of hatred from him。
〃I suppose their lives are not really so bad；〃 said Winifred
Inger； superior to the Zolaesque tragedy。
He turned with his polite； distant attention。
〃Yes； they are pretty bad。 The pits are very deep； and hot；
and in some places wet。 The men die of consumption fairly often。
But they earn good wages。〃
〃How gruesome！〃 said Winifred Inger。
〃Yes；〃 he replied gravely。 It was his grave； solid；
self…contained manner which made him so much respected as a
colliery manager。
The servant came in to ask where they would have tea。
〃Put it in the summer…house； Mrs。 Smith；〃 he said。
The fair…haired； good…looking young woman went out。
〃Is she married and in service？〃 asked Ursula。
〃She is a widow。 Her husband died of consumption a little
while ago。〃 Brangwen gave a sinister little laugh。 〃He lay there
in the house…place at her mother's； and five or six other people
in the house； and died very gradually。 I asked her if his death
wasn't a great trouble to her。 'Well；' she said； 'he was very
fretful towards the last； never satisfied； never easy； always
fret…fretting； an' never knowing what would satisfy him。 So in
one way it was a relief when it was over……for him and for
everybody。' They had only been married two years； and she has
one boy。 I asked her if she hadn't been very happy。 'Oh； yes；
sir； we was very fortable at first； till he took
bad……oh； we was very fortable……oh； yes……but；
you see； you get used to it。 I've had my father and two brothers
go off just the same。 You get used to it'。〃
〃It's a horrible thing to get used to；〃 said Winifred Inger；
with a shudder。
〃Yes；〃 he said； still smiling。 〃But that's how they are。
She'll be getting married again directly。 One man or
another……it does not matter very much。 They're all
colliers。〃
〃What do you mean？〃 asked Ursula。 〃They're all colliers？〃
〃It is with the women as with us；〃 he replied。 〃Her husband
was John Smith； loader。 We reckoned him as a loader； he reckoned
himself as a loader； and so she knew he represented his job。
Marriage and home is a little side…show。
〃The women know it right enough； and take it for what it's
worth。 One man or another； it doesn't matter all the world。 The
pit matters。 Round the pit there will always be the sideshows；
plenty of 'em。〃
He looked round at the red chaos； the rigid； amorphous
confusion of Wiggiston。
〃Every man his own little side…show； his home； but the pit
owns every man。 The women have what is left。 What's left of this
man； or what is left of that……it doesn't matter altogether。
The pit takes all that really matters。〃
〃It is the same everywhere；〃 burst out Winifred。 〃It is the
office； or the shop； or the business that gets the man； the
woman gets the bit the shop can't digest。 What is he at home； a
man？ He is a meaningless lump……a standing machine； a
machine out of work。〃
〃They know they are sold；〃 said Tom Brangwen。 〃That's where
it is。 They know they are sold to their job。 If a woman talks
her throat out； what difference can it make？ The man's sold to
his job。 So the women don't bother。 They take what they can
catch……and vogue la galere。〃
〃Aren't they very strict here？〃 asked Miss Inger。
〃Oh； no。 Mrs。 Smith has two sisters who have just changed
husbands。 They're not very particular……neither are they
very interested。 They go dragging along what is left from the
pits。 They're not interested enough to be very immoral……it
all amounts to the same thing； moral or immoral……just a
question of pit…wages。 The most moral duke in England makes two
hundred thousand a year out of these pits。 He keeps the morality
end up。〃
Ursula sat black…souled and very bitter； hearing the two of
them talk。 There seemed something ghoulish even in their very
deploring of the state of things。 They seemed to take a ghoulish
satisfaction in it。 The pit was the great mistress。 Ursula
looked out of the window and saw the proud； demonlike colliery
with her wheels twinkling in the heavens； the formless； squalid
mass of the town lying aside。 It was the squalid heap of
side…shows。 The pit was the main show； the raison d'etre
of all。
How terrible it was！ There was a horrible fascination
in it……human bodies and lives subjected in slavery to that
symmetric monster of the colliery。 There was a swooning；
perverse satisfaction in it。 For a moment she was dizzy。
Then she recovered； felt herself in a great loneliness；
where…in she was sad but free。 She had departed。 No more would
she subscribe to the great colliery； to the great machine which
has taken us all captives。 In her soul； she was against it； she
disowned even its power。 It had only to be forsaken to be inane；
meaningless。 And she knew it was meaningless。 But it needed a
great； passionate effort of will on her part； seeing the
colliery； still to maintain her knowledge that it was
meaningless。
But her Uncle Tom and her mistress remained there among the
horde； cynically reviling the monstrous state and yet adhering
to it； like a man who reviles his mistress； yet who is in love
with her。 She knew her Uncle Tom perceived what was going on。
But she knew moreover that in spite of his criticism and
condemnation； he still wanted the great machine。 His only happy
moments； his only moments of pure freedom were when he was
serving the machine。 Then； and then only； when the machine
caught him up； was he free from the hatred of himself； could he
act wholely； without cynicism and unreality。
His real mistress was the machine； and the real mistress of
Winifred was the machine。 She too； Winifred； worshipped the
impure abstraction； the mechanisms of matter。 There； there； in
the machine； in service of the machine； was she free from the
clog and degradation of human feeling。 There； in the monstrous
mechanism that held all matter； living or dead； in its service；
did she achieve her consummation and her perfect unison； her
immortality。
Hatred sprang up in Ursula's heart。 If she could she would
smash the machine。 Her soul's action should be the smashing of
the great machine。 If she could destroy the colliery； and make
all the men of Wiggiston out of work； she would do it。 Let them
starve and grub in the earth for roots； rather than serve such a
Moloch as this。
She hated her Uncle Tom； she hated Winifred Inger。 They went
down to the summer…house for tea。 It was a pleasant place among
a few trees； at the end of a tiny garden； on the edge of a
field。 Her Uncle Tom and Winifred seemed to jeer at her； to
cheapen her。 She was miserable and desolate。 But she would never
give way。
Her coldness for Winifred should never cease。 She knew it was
over between them。 She saw gross； ugly movements in her
mistress； she saw a clayey； inert； unquickened flesh； that
reminded her of the great prehistoric lizards。 One day her Uncle
Tom came in out of the broiling sunshine heated from walking。
Then the perspiration stood out upon his head and brow； his hand
was wet and hot and suffocating in its clasp。 He too had
something marshy about him……the succulent moistness and
turgidity； and the same b