told himself again and again what a fool he had been; it was he
who had made the suggestion that they should go away, he had offered the
money, he had forced it upon them; he might have known what would happen
when he introduced Griffiths to Mildred; his own vehement passion was
enough to arouse the other's desire. By this time they had reached Oxford.
They would put up in one of the lodging-houses in John Street; Philip had
never been to Oxford, but Griffiths had talked to him about it so much
that he knew exactly where they would go; and they would dine at the
Clarendon: Griffiths had been in the habit of dining there when he went on
the spree. Philip got himself something to eat in a restaurant near
Charing Cross; he had made up his mind to go to a play, and afterwards he
fought his way into the pit of a theatre at which one of Oscar Wilde's
pieces was being performed. He wondered if Mildred and Griffiths would go
to a play that evening: they must kill the evening somehow; they were too
stupid, both of them to content themselves with conversation: he got a
fierce delight in reminding himself of the vulgarity of their minds which
suited them so exactly to one another. He watched the play with an
abstracted mind, trying to give himself gaiety by drinking whiskey in each
interval; he was unused to alcohol, and it affected him quickly, but his
drunkenness was savage and morose. When the play was over he had another
drink. He could not go to bed, he knew he would not sleep, and he dreaded
the pictures which his vivid imagination would place before him. He tried
not to think of them. He knew he had drunk too much. Now he was seized
with a desire to do horrible, sordid things; he wanted to roll himself in
gutters; his whole being yearned for beastliness; he wanted to grovel.

He walked up Piccadilly, dragging his club-foot, sombrely drunk, with rage
and misery clawing at his heart. He was stopped by a painted harlot, who
put her hand on his arm; he pushed her violently away with brutal words.
He walked on a few steps and then stopped. She would do as well as
another. He was sorry he had spoken so roughly to her. He went up to her.

"I say," he began.

"Go to hell," she said.

Philip laughed.

"I merely wanted to ask if you'd do me the honour of supping with me
tonight."

She looked at him with amazement, and hesitated for a while. She saw he
was drunk.

"I don't mind."

He was amused that she should use a phrase he