All the day long I've gone watching the street ahead of me
. . . watching in fear of you. . . ."
"But I never guessed it would happen like this." He stared up
irritably, as though the lamp were to blame for upsetting his
calculations. The woman followed his eyes.
"Yes . . . the lamp," she assented. "Something held my face up to it,
just now, when I wanted to hide. It's like as if our souls were naked
under it, and there is nothing to say."
"Eh? but there is. I tell you I've thought it out so often!
I've thought it all out, or almost all; and that can't mean nothing."
He cleared his throat. "I've made allowances, too--" he began
magnanimously.
But for the moment she was not listening. "Yes, yes . . ." She had
turned her face aside and was gazing out into the darkness. "Look at
the gas-jets, Willy--in the fog. What do they remind you of?
That Christmas-tree . . . after Dick was born. . . . Don't you remember
how he mistook the oranges on it for lanterns and wanted to blow them
out . . . how he kicked to get at them . . ."
"It's odd: I was thinking of Dick, just now, when you--when you spoke to
me. The lamp put me in mind of him. I was wondering what it cost.
We have nothing like it at home. Of course, if I bought one for the
shop, people would talk--'drawing attention,' they'd say, after what has
happened. But I thought that Dick, perhaps .
Pages:
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321