He shook his head impatiently.

"It's in my family," he began, and she felt it on the tip of her tongue
to tell him it was in hers too, but something stopped her. "And it's a
hunger--absolutely an unendurable hunger."

"Were you always frightened of things?" she said, a little wonderingly.

"No--I was always nervy and shy and repressed. But this is a vicious
circle, don't you see? A thing is called a vicious circle in medicine
when cause and effect are so closely linked that you can't tell which is
which. At home I was repressed; that was the fashion in my young days.
The motto was, 'Children are to be seen and not heard.' I dodged
visitors always; when I met them by any chance I was always a fool with
them, blinking and stammering like anything. When I was first at the
hospital among men I was gawky until quite by chance I discovered that
whisky made me graceful, stopped the stammering, gave me a surprising
flow of eloquence and made me feel a damned fine chap. Naturally I went
at it like anything, and of course after each burst was more nervous
than ever. It plays havoc with your nerves, you know. And in addition
I had a sense of guilt.--Oh, damn life!"

"Yes," she said slowly. She understood what a vicious circle was now.
"You drank to stop yourself being nervous. The stuff makes you
temporarily happy, and then even more nervous afterwards. So you drink
more. Oh, my goodness, how silly!"

"But you don't take into account what a hunger it is, you know," he said
in a low voice. "You don't understand that. I don't think there can be
such another hunger on earth, even love."