4. An Unten Novel

        Sucself to make one’s eyes slide above to t    t look, almost a symbol of iny . Life’s    it, o , cease to be a life’s like t, it seems. Five faces opposite—five mature faces—and tra to ceal it! Marks of retice 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, glang at times for manners’ sake. “I knoerday officially us Paris—Signor Nitti, talian Prime Minister—a passerain at Doncaster rain. . .’ e all knoimes kno end .” My eyes    over ty 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 e 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 ce at t to clay. ced all illusion.

        So tled to Sussex. But    see t travellers , one by oill, save fetation. e dreform and stopped. as o leave us? I prayed bot t    stay. At t instauously, like a t open t us alone.

        ttle foralked of stations abourne, 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 . t t I er t bet or it 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 ination. I remained for all co expect. Someto take my glove and rub my oo, tle spe 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 beh her gaze.

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

        Slo. Do (Bob and Barbara),    iffly; back again t 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 bla 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 Eastbourernoon? I, too, see roofs, I see sky; but, er t—t’s t I    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    —o 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 onplace—sine    t me peep across again—still sleeping, or pretending sleep! ouacy, 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.    sc. “Bob at lunco–day”—But elderly .

        Indeed no sit praying any longer. Kruger’s suer’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, uppeoo muc be preac’s a ’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 musid care! ell, t    really speak; but everyt dourns t’oto ties for poor Minnie Marse for lun a storm    a matosterly unscious 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 es. 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 bloarble 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 i, if tory’s to go on gatundity, destiny and tragedy, as stories s t travellers and a ra only partly cealed 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 prig t glass, a desire to peer and peep at te—one’s as muc,    to tcill I’ve gravels in—stons?—but time’s not e fing ttle on t I say time’s not e. ravels, and on tbourne day, takes tle steady eyes—by no means. altogetite (t’s safe;    look at Miill tucked diamond– tive, and,    may do t take me i’s dodge to t t in motion. ell, ts are mended on Sundays by James rut ired al eresting—fod’s sake let me    no; s, ’s ten—t, t, . ing    t opposite and at t’ot Le be Jimmy—or ch for?

        t be Me—life’s fault. Life imposes yrant; o not t pulsion across ferns and cruets, table splastles smeared. I e irresistibly to lodge myself somee or find footability of tree; ting brancaut tarpaulin; tation of t; e, dismal; noe agaier, ;” 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 knooment—James Me].

        “Dear, dear, dear!” iful t on seasoimber, like t of an a ful to sooto you!” and t’s your pleasure?” for t’s do’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 tbourernoon in one of ttle carriages? Are you man s so solemn staring like a spaker, t ell me—but t again. Me, farewell!

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

        James Me 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 catab; t took t t someiful, as it flits s lanterlessly 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 ta at ter all, tea is rid 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 ing, t, be it! Fod’s sake don’t    on t no her, found her soul!

        “Obourne. I’ll reae try t, Miences, I’ve read yh you now].

        “t’s all ygage?”

        “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 founded. . . Surely, Minnie, you knoter! A strange young man. . . Stop! I’ll tell    kno blo’s u’s i. . . Look e. ’s t do I stand on?    do I kno’s not Mihere never was Me. ho am I? Life’s bare as bone.

        A 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!
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