She drank and drank until his body was a
lifeless husk, as light as a mannequin, virtually hollow of
all but the fluid in his bones. “MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of
forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. “Well?” she said. ’
She was backing across the room, moving towards the screen. ’
Her gaze followed the butler, who was moving towards the door. What a pity!
For all her ignorance of material things—the human inventions which served the
physical comforts of man—how much she knew about man himself! She had
seen him bereft of all those spiritual props which permit man to walk on two feet
instead of four—broken, without resilience. He nodded silently, too full for words. Her husband stared at her over the candle flame. After all, old P. Satisfied in this respect, he flung himself into a
chair, for his iron frame seldom required the indulgence of a bed, and sought an
hour's repose before he began the villanies of another day. From a bi-secting street came shouting and
music. Even if he were an old friend,
you couldn't afford to do it. She
lunched at a creamery in Great Portland Street, and as the day was full of wintry
sunshine, spent the rest of the lunch-hour in a drowsy gloom, which she
imagined to be thought upon the problems of her position, on a seat in Regent’s
Park. Her faith in human beings revived. ‘He had run away with a Frenchwoman, you see, but Everett
Charvill—I refer to the general—took care to conceal the matter.
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This video was uploaded to indienet.info on 30-06-2024 03:55:11