4. An Unten Novel

    Sucself to make one’s eyes slide above to t  t look, almost a symbol of iny . Life’s  it, never, to , cease to be a life’s like t, it seems. Five faces opposite—five mature faces—and trange, t to conceal it! Marks of reticence are on all t, eyes so ultify ries in a pocket book; a fourtares at te; and terrible t t s all. S life. A my poor, unfortunate !

    As if sed slig and sigo apologise and at time to say to me, “If only you kne life again. “But I do knoly, glancing at times for manners’ sake. “I knoerday officially us Paris—Signor Nitti, talian Prime Minister—a passenger train at Doncaster rain. . .’ e all knoimes kno end .” My eyes  over tco to my great reservoir of life. “take inued, “birt Circular, ts of birds, Leonardo da Vinci, t of living—oake ed, “it’s all in times!” Again e il, like a top exed  settled on her neck.

    times ection against suc otercourse. t to do against life o fold t it made a perfect square, crisp, to life. to my eyes as if searc of courage at t to clay. ced all illusion.

    So tled to Sussex. But  see t travellers , one by one, till, save for togetation. e dreform and stopped. as o leave us? I prayed bot t  stay. At t instant emptuously, like a t open t us alone.

    ttle foralked of stations and  Eastbourne, and time of year, e. But at last looking from taying a’s t—” Aastroper–in–laterness of one eel, and speaking, not to me, but to tered, “nonsense, s’s ed as terer’s shop–window.

    “O coion. t t I er t bet or itc un ion, for if tigma was removed from life.

    “Sisters–in–law,” I said—

    o spit venom at to take  a spot on t for ever—some stain, some indelible contamination. Indeed, t remained for all co expect. Someto take my glove and rub my oo, tle speck on t remained. And t t too, felt like terer’s s betcated, felt clammy, felt raitiously I tried. Se irony, infinite sorroted and faded from  sed, s, passed er’s landscape, I read , reading it beneath her gaze.

    er–in–la t year. ell, oo c do more. No, Minnie, I’ve got it;  alone your basket!” So to t Minnie, children.”

    Slo. Do (Bob and Barbara),  iffly; back again to taring bet ts, curtains, trefoil ce, yello—skip—o ! ares at  on  cill le bedroom looking out over tbourne—zigzagging roofs like terpillars, t riped red and yelloing]. No; o t; you unstrap traps of your basket, lay on tgoand side by side furred felt slippers. tion of –pins. Per? You s; it’s tud t year—t’s all. And tting by ternoon; t lo of a drapery emporium; anot’s bedroom—t. t gives o look at. A moment’s blankness—t are you t me peep across at e; sending it; so ting at t ternoon? ting on tbourne, Minnie Marso Gods. t’s all very o see God better; but s of Eastbourne, ternoon? I, too, see roofs, I see sky; but, o Kruger t—t’s t I can do for , not so very  on; and trailing in trunc?—black, tal old bully—Minnie’s God! Did ccc ed some crime!

    I  and fly—in summer ting, , ty years ago? Vo Minnie’s! . . . Sombstone— I’m off track. A crime. . . t —ific people. But o saddle reets of Croydon ty years ago, t loops of ribbon in tric ligc six. Still by running s’s sale–time. Srays brim  —no need to co buy, and eacray s surprises. “e don’t s till seven,” and t is seven. S too late. Neigor—baby brottle—scalded—al—dead—or only t, t tail matters not’s o expiate, alween her shoulders.

    “Yes,” so nod to me, “it’s thing I did.”

    you did, I don’t mind; it’s not t. t—t’ll do; a little ctle commonplace—since one  t me peep across again—still sleeping, or pretending sleep! oucinacy, more t of sex)—so many crimes aren’t your crime; your crime ion solemn; for noiles ser, summer, dusk, da) prays. All  receives t’s raised, it’s red, it’s burning. Next sc. “Bob at lunco–day”—But elderly .

    Indeed no sit praying any longer. Kruger’s sunk beneater’s bruso ip of trunc’s s. It’s hilda now.

    e , too, t’s only cold er you , and sometimes  seems as if —t, and sometimes t altogetoo; so out you go along t, uppence—too muc be preac’s a nigger—t’s a funny man—t’s a man s—poor little creatures! Is t up t no—t grey in t’s blue te clouds ’s military music—and care! ell, t  really speak; but everyt doors—raigurns t’oto ties for poor Minnie Marse for lunc in a storm  a mackintosterly unconscious of ts.

    ? But t top of t s of print ; and in t?—t terfly’s off—t  raise my ill, t,  o rise; ill in till over till dos our cages. Air above, air beloality. . . O I drop to turf! Are you dooo, you in t’s your name—igo akes a  eggs leman, suddenly opening ? Any, and you came “s. Yes. And no–o s of eggss of a map—a puzzle. I  still. Ss again. Doe blocks of marble go bounding and ling, cruso deatroop of Spaniseers, y, gold and silver. But to return—

    to o  goes  saying; so, too, t; dot, dot, dot. But  te, , , talion and tably, travellers. time in t someter still emerge, as indeed t, if tory’s to go on gatundity, destiny and tragedy, as stories s t travellers and a ra only partly concealed traveller—” Rterly, and into te, for rive; but rbourne—in December—on table—no, no, I dare not; it’s all a matter of crusts and cruets, frills and ferns. Per later by tly pricking t glass, a desire to peer and peep at te—one’s as muc,  to tcill I’ve got traigravels in—stons?—but time’s not come for bringing ttle on t I say time’s not come. ravels, and on tbourne day, takes tle steady eyes—by no means. altogetite (t’s safe;  look at Minnie till tucked diamond– tive, and,  may do t take me in. Let’s dodge to t t in motion. ell, ts are mended on Sundays by James rut ired al nurse—interesting—for God’s sake let me  no; s, none t’s ten—t, t, . ing  t opposite and at t’ot Le be Jimmy—or ch for?

    t be Moggridge—life’s fault. Life imposes yrant; o not t compulsion across ferns and cruets, table splastles smeared. I come irresistibly to lodge myself somee or find footability of tougraigree; ting brancaut tarpaulin; tation of t; e, dismal; noe again; bera ter, ;” tableclot’s alk t over; ce again; turn it round—te. “Marser—not a bit like Marscrut’s set c hese elderly women. Dear, dear!”

    [Yes, Minnie; I knoc one moment—James Moggridge].

    “Dear, dear, dear!” iful t on seasoned timber, like t of an ancient ful to sooto you!” and t’s your pleasure?” for t’s done, t’s over. No train,” for t linger.

    t’s t’s t reverberates; t’s St. Paul’s and tor–omnibuses. But ay? You must be off? Are you driving tbourne ternoon in one of ttle carriages? Are you man s so solemn staring like a spaker, t ell me—but t again. Moggridge, farewell!

    Yes, yes, I’m coming. Rigo top of t I’ll linger.  a sers leave, ters rocking, triking to till by degrees toms reassemble, t sifts itself, and again till, and to ted, some obsequy for to, ts again.

    James Moggridge is dead no no longer.” If s—(Let me look at o deep declivities). S certainly, leaning against t ttle balls ain. But ombed soul, t driven in, in, in to tral catacomb; t took t t someiful, as it flits s lantern restlessly up and do no longer,”  says. “t man at lunc’s t s destiny, t driven s—meagre foot ries glimpsed in girl for me—not for me.”

    But ts I sion of underlinen. If Minnie Marsaken to al, nurses and doctors ta and tance—t at ter all, tea is ric, and to your basket, sir, and see  you!” So, taking t’s called going in ifications, t in and out.

    Running it in and out, across and over, spinning a  titc be proud of your darning. Let noturb  t fall gently, and t of t green leaf. Let t? Oo te glass  loops? But ions, ohe breach.

    in ts tc of  souc. ’s your broocletoe or merry–t? And ’s coming, t, be it! For God’s sake don’t  on t no her, confound her soul!

    “Obourne. I’ll reac do me try t, Minnie, tences, I’ve read you righ you now].

    “t’s all your luggage?”

    “Much obliged, I’m sure.”

    (But o tation, nor Jo tbourne).

    “I’ll  by my bag, ma’am, t’s safest.  me. . . O’s my son.”

    So together.

    ell, but I’m confounded. . . Surely, Minnie, you knoter! A strange young man. . . Stop! I’ll tell  kno blo’s untrue, it’s indecent. . . Look e. ’s t do I stand on?  do I kno’s not Minnie. there never was Moggridge. ho am I? Life’s bare as bone.

    And yet t look of tepping from terious figures! Motreet? o–nigo–morro after t. te ligters and pours. Plate–glass ions; cs at terious figures, I see you, turning ten, I follo be ter murmurs and moves. If I fall on my knees, if I go tual, t antics, it’s you, unkno’s you I embrace, you I drao me—adorable world!