woman into my life, unless my life does something and gets somewhere, inwardly at least, to keep us both fresh. A man must offer a woman some meaning in his life, if it's going to be an isolated life, and if she's a genuine woman. I can't be just your male concubine."
"Why not?" she said.
"Why, because I can't. And you would soon hate it."
"As if you couldn't trust me," she said.
The grin flickered on his face.
"The money is yours, the position is yours, the decisions will lie with you. I'm not just my lady's fucker, after all."
"What else are you?"
"You may well ask. It no doubt is invisible. Yet I'm something to myself at least. I can see the point of my own existence, though I can quite understand nobody else's seeing it."
"And will your existence have less point, if you live with me?"
He paused a long time before replying:
"It might."
She too stayed to think about it.
"And what is the point of your existence?"
"I tell you, it's invisible. I don't believe in the world, not in money, nor in advancement, nor in the future of our civilisation. If there's got to be a future for humanity, there'll have to be a very big change from what now is."
"And what will the real future have to be like?"
"God knows! I can feel something inside me, all mixed up with a lot of rage. But what it really amounts to, I don't know."
"Shall I tell you?" she said, looking into his face. "Shall I tell you what you have that other men don't have, and that will make the future? Shall I tell you?"
"Tell me then," he replied.
"It's the courage of your own tenderness, that's what it is: like when you put your hand on my tail and say I've got a pretty tail."
The grin came flickering on his face.
"That!" he said.
Then he sat thinking.
"Ay!" he said. "You're right. It's that really. It's that all the way through. I knew it with the men. I had to be in touch with them, physically, and not go back on it. I had to be bodily aware of them
