"Philip E. High - Twin Planets" - читать интересную книгу автора (High Phillip E)

him.

Perhaps the expression was indicative because Denning had discovered
the previous week that he was guileless, was ineffective.

He had also discovered, to his chagrin, that he was a physical and
moral coward. In truth, the only justification he could find for his
continued existence was the fact that he could admit these things to
himself without trying to justify them or explain them away.

He went over the events again. Yes, he was a coward. He should have
hit Beacham, struck out at him however ineffectively, if only to justify his
own manhood.

The trouble was, of course, that Beacham was bigger. The muscles in
his naked shoulders had rippled unpleasantly, and he had looked crude,
savage and too confident.

Beacham had stuck out his chin, almost demanding to be punched, and
then he had sneered, "Don't burst into tears, sonny boy. These things
happen and will probably happen again—or would you care to do
something about it?"

It was then that Denning discovered he was a coward. He had retreated
behind a torrent of cliches, a flood of deprecation. He heard the
nauseatingly familiar phrases as if they were not his own. They were
"civilized people," he had said. Then, "differences could be settled without
violence." And so it went until the pathetic flood of words slowly dried and
he found himself near to tears and fumbling for a cigarette.
 Beacham had laughed, laughed until the tears came into his eyes, and
even Marian, who had not known whether to look guilty or brazen, had
joined in shrilly, if a little hysterically.

Denning writhed inwardly. You came home unexpectedly because you
had forgotten some necessary papers and found a business associate in
bed with your wife. All you could do when they stood and laughed at you
was to cringe, clenching and unclenching your hands ineffectually. But you
knew suddenly that Marian, who was thirty-two, had married you for
security. You knew that this was but one of many infidelities. You knew
that this was not a love affair, but an incident. This act of adultery was as
casual and as meaningless as a meal in a restaurant. God, and he had
talked of "stepping aside for their future happiness." No wonder they had
laughed.

He had wanted to hit Beacham, wanted to punch the thick sensuous
lips until they were pulp; the resentment and the urge had been there, but
his muscles had refused to respond.

Worse, he saw Beacham every day at work, and every day Beacham
smirked and said, "Good morning, sonny boy."