Read "Doomsday" by Warwick Deeping online for free on Textopian. Full text with search, annotations, highlights, and AI-powered reading aids.
While leading the grey horse home, Furze's consciousness was held by those last words of hers. They were true, but only relatively true, for the modern mind has arrived at the blessed half-way house of relativity. The absolute is out of fashion. Furze, having run the blue cart into the wagon-shed, and stabled the grey horse, washed his hands at the pump, and went to the cow-house to help Will finish the milking. With his head pressing against a warm flank, he let his thoughts travel back and forth, until they returned to share his cautious incredulity.
No, such a future seemed impossible. Mary might stand the life for six months, but sooner or later she would weary of it and its drudgery. Her heart was not in it. Mere sentiment is poor cloth for a farmer's breeches. Moreover, had not his thinking got ahead of his caring? Did he care? Or was it that he was afraid to care, and, like the hard and cautious husbandman,--considered a woman's points as he considered a cow's? It was necessary. Only a fool would try to make a lady's hack pull a plough.