Carrington Page #3

to reconcile puritanism

with a love of beauty.

It's a consideration that's never far

from my thoughts when I'm in Burnley.

I mean, take this garden, for example.

Surely it wouldn't be right to plant

nothing but cabbages and cauliflowers.

Or do you think it's wanton of us to love

the bastard tulip or the Turk's-head lily?

Of course not. No.

One can't have it all ways.

Remember that.

And I firmly believe it's high time

you took the bull by the horns.

We can't always live under glass,

like a cucumber.

We have to engage with life.

Ah, there you are, Carrington.

I was hoping to find an opportunity to

talk to you in private before Mark's arrival.

(Carrington) Then Pipsey harangued me

for half an hour on the perils of virginity.

He got all breathy and the hairs

in his nostrils became horribly agitated.

Finally, he said it was someone like me

had driven his brother Hugh to suicide.

Ah, semen.

What is it about that

ridiculous white secretion

that pulls down the corners

of an Englishman's mouth?

You see, I'm not against it in theory.

It's just the thought of Mark, somehow.

Well, I can't, of course,

agree with you, but... there we are.

- Lytton.

- Hm?

I love being with you.

You're so cold and wise.

These last few months, whenever

I know I'll see you, I get so excited inside.

If you... were to kiss me again,

I don't think I'd mind at all.

You know, it's a strange thing,

but I'd rather like to.

Your skin is like ivory.

That day I came in - you remember

- to cut your beard off... I knew then.

I don't think this is

what Mark had in mind.

- He's not to know.

- Still, I can't help feeling rather shifty.

What I knew was

that I was in love with you.

I heard from the military doctors' board

this morning.

They've rejected me.

"Medically unfit for any kind of service."

But, Lytton, that's wonderful.

Wonderful for me.

(# harmonium)

Thousands of boys are dying

every day to preserve this.

- Did you know?

- Yes.

God damn, blast, confound

and f*** the upper classes.

Let's see if we can't

avoid all this, shall we?

Go and read some Rimbaud.

You're the lady,

I'm the Jew-boy from the East End.

- That's it, isn't it?

- Of course not.

- Don't know why you don't admit it.

- Because it's not true!

You don't understand. I need my freedom.

Freedom? How can you have that when

you're frightened to use your own body?

You must have patience.

What do you mean, patience?

It is killing me, all this.

It is killing me.

I'm sorry.

Think how much your body's deteriorated

in the past four years.

All that time, just wasted.

- Keats's letters...

- Don't talk to me about Keats's letters!

What the hell use is Keats to me?!

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