Wood, who had
been absent on business during the greater part of the day, returned (perhaps not
altogether undesignedly) at an earlier hour than was expected, to his dwelling in
Wych Street, Drury Lane; and was about to enter his workshop, when, not
hearing any sound of labour issue from within, he began to suspect that an
apprentice, of whose habits of industry he entertained some doubt, was
neglecting his employment. “I cannot reason with you,” he said at last wearily. He thanked God for this talent of his. He was there concealed, waiting
her return. There
was an eerie sense of brooding menace about an uninhabited establishment. “If it’s about that dance project,” he said, “it’s no good, Veronica. Bribble’s rendering of the service
—he had the sort of voice that brings out things—and was still teeming with
ideas about it when finally a wild outburst from the organ made it clear that,
whatever snivelling there might be down in the chancel, that excellent wind
instrument was, in its Mendelssohnian way, as glad as ever it could be. The burden of decision had
been transferred. Loneliness. . There was a wall; she was always encountering it; the one time she
was able to break through this wall was when the part in his hair was crooked. Her knees were trembling, her whole frame
was shaken with sobs. Ann Veronica was
carried off her intellectual and critical feet by it altogether, and applauded and
uttered cries that subsequent reflection failed to endorse. Their soft, voluptuous bodies wove among
each other to the faint notes of a lyre. The lighting-up pierced the obscurity of the box, and
Ramage stopped his urgent flow of words abruptly and sat back.
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This video was uploaded to indienet.info on 28-06-2024 06:27:22