Armed with Madness by Mary Butts

Author:Mary Butts [Butts, Mary]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Tags: Fiction
Publisher: Standard Ebooks
Published: 2026-02-20T15:59:04+00:00

XVII

Clarence figured it out. Picus had done this to get away from him, falsifying the devotion of years, flaunt a pretty cousin, marry a pretty cousin: because she had some money: because she was a bird and bee woman: because Carston was after her, must be after her, or he would not have come back from Starn. Or why should any man run back after such an exit, to help a woman, a mime, a baggage, a bag of excrement? There is a great difference between a sportsman, a painter, a man that feels the earth, between Ross and Scylla and his terrible green Sdi creature, and Clarence’s feeling for decoration best served by cities, a blasted heath no more than a site for his palace. He was on Carston and Felix’s side, never satisfied with the earth sacrifice the others munched, wanting fausse route with his friend, because his education was insufficient for his abilities. Not for the first time he did not try to correct himself, thought about his wounds and his wishes until they took phantom shape and he slipped off uneasily with his gun down the wood. Scylla made a face after him. Ross shook his head. Carston had an impulse to follow.

“Gone off to invent excuses for Picus,” said Felix, “for you to listen to⁠—It’s the occupation down here.”

“Come and pose,” said Ross. “I want a model.”

Carston was alone with Scylla. He said:

“I think I’ve an excuse now to say ‘explain a bit.’ ” It was parching hot, gritty as if a storm of microscopic dust had filled up the holes in the leaves, in the grass-blades, in the skin.

“Reassure me, at least,” he said, “that this would have happened without me.”

“Of course. Much worse if it hadn’t been for you.” They stopped talking.

“I tried to help you,” he said, “it is your turn.” Saw the effort she made, thought how easy these people were to spur.

“Let’s go up and tackle Picus,” she said⁠—“there is one thing about staying in bed, it runs to earth.”

“No,” said Carston, “you must excuse me. I’ve had about enough of that chap.”

“So,” said Scylla, “for the moment, have I.”

“Seems to me he played a mean trick on you all⁠—What I don’t see is why. Or why it should have got you.”

The other side of the house Ross was seeing Felix flung in a chair, hearing the nervous sobbing his own cool voice could not control. Nor could he control in himself his aversion to speak or to help.

“What in hell do we come here for? I told Scylla to sell those shares and we’d have been at Biarritz.”

“It would have been the same at Biarritz.”

“You might be. I should be different there. You’re looking for something. I’m not. And I hope when you get it you’ll like it. Looking for the Sanc-Grail. It’s always the same story. The Golden Fleece or the philosopher’s stone, or perpetual motion, or Atlantis or the lost tribes or God. All ways of walking into the same trap.

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