Disgrace by J. M. Coetzee

They speak of Lucy, sole issue of his first marriage, living now on a farm in the Eastern Cape. 'I may see her soon,' he says - 'I'm thinking of taking a trip.'
              'In term time?'
              'Term is nearly over. Another two weeks to get through, that's all.'
              'Has this anything to do with the problems you are having? I hear you are having problems.'
              'Where did you hear that?'
              'People talk, David. Everyone knows about this latest affair of yours, in the juiciest detail. It's in no one's interest to hush it up, no one's but your own. Am I allowed to tell you how stupid it looks?'
              'No, you are not.'
              'I will anyway. Stupid, and ugly too. I don't know what you do about sex and I don't want to know, but this is not the way to go about it. You're what - fifty-two? Do you think a young girl finds any pleasure in going to bed with a man of that age? Do you think she finds it good to watch you in the middle of your...? Do you ever think about that?'
              He is silent.
              'Don't expect sympathy from me, David, and don't expect sympathy from anyone else either. No sympathy, no mercy, not in this day and age. Everyone's hand will be against you, and why not? Really, how could you?'
              The old tone has entered, the tone of the last years of their married life: passionate recrimination. Even Rosalind must be aware of that. Yet perhaps she has a point. Perhaps it is the right of the young to be protected from the sight of their elders in the throes of passion. That is what whores are for, after all: to put up with the ecstasies of the unlovely.
              'Anyway,' Rosalind goes on, 'you say you'll see Lucy.'
              'Yes, I thought I'd drive up after the inquiry and spend some time with her.'
              'The inquiry?'
              'There is a committee of inquiry sitting next week.'
              'That's very quick. And after you have seen Lucy?'
              'I don't know. I'm not sure I will be permitted to come back to the university. I'm not sure I will want to.'
              Rosalind shakes her head. 'An inglorious end to your career, don't you think? I won't ask if what you got from this girl was worth the price. What are you going to do with your time? What about your pension?'
              'I'll come to some arrangement with them. They can't cut me off without a penny.'
              'Can't they? Don't be so sure. How old is she - your inamorata?'
              'Twenty. Of age. Old enough to know her own mind.'
              'The story is, she took sleeping-pills. Is that true?'
              'I know nothing about sleeping-pills. It sounds like a fabrication to me. Who told you about sleeping-pills?'
              She ignores the question. 'Was she in love with you? Did you jilt her?'
              'No. Neither.'
              'Then why this complaint?'
              'Who knows? She didn't confide in me. There was a battle of some kind going on behind the scenes that I wasn't privy to. There was a jealous boyfriend. There were indignant parents. She must have crumpled in the end. I was taken completely by surprise.'
              'You should have known, David. You are too old to be meddling with other people's children. You should have expected the worst. Anyway, it's all very demeaning. Really.'
              'You haven't asked whether I love her. Aren't you supposed to ask that as well?'
              'Very well. Are you in love with this young woman who is dragging your name through the mud?'
              'She isn't responsible. Don't blame her.'
              'Don't blame her! Whose side are you on? Of course I blame her! I blame you and I blame her. The whole thing is disgraceful from beginning to end. Disgraceful