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| From: | Patricia Castaneda |
| Subject: | [Audiodo-develop] unbroken |
| Date: | Fri, 15 Sep 2006 03:51:21 -0700 |
![]() The stars seemed very permanent,
veryunchanging.
Ivimey as if someone had focussed thelens of a
telescope upon her. She made another quick little movement with her fingers as if
she weretwirling something.
Every friend had beenleft some little token of her
affection. This, she thought, is the greatest of marvels; the supreme achievementof
the human race. She had stepped off the kerb to escapefrom him. I told him I could
not come to any decision. She had steppedoff the kerb to rejoin her lover. Hadnt she
enough to do looking after him, afterher home? She could imagine some
physicalsensation. The light, she added, gathering her things about her, only falls
hereand there. Politics was a gamble, he reflected; but the gamewasnt over
yet.
Presumably he was one of those tame working men
whoair their views in ladies drawing-rooms. She had steppedoff the kerb to rejoin
her lover.
Ivimey opened her arms and closed them as if she
were kissingsomeone. It was now focussed on the plain expanseof Buckingham Palace.
No; she rebukedherself the next moment, roughly, as if she boxed her own ears. They
all looked at the stars that were coming out in thedarkness over the
trees.
Gilbert knew the type, and hadno liking for this
particular specimen, whoever B.
But Iremember a coat of arms over the door; and
books, old books, gonemouldy. The light, she added, gathering her things about her,
only falls hereand there. Was she waiting upfor him when he came back?
But when he was a boy only the tower was
left.
Here the sound of voices in the hall interrupted
him. But she remembered; and corrected herself. Miss OKeefe wanted an ice or
something to drink. He read on rapidly, filling inscene after scene from her scrappy
fragments. There they lived, shewent on, the old man, the woman and the boy. It had
been a great grief to her, apparently, that they hadhad no children.
He paused here to speculate uponwhat might have
been. It was very unlike her to conceal anything; shehad been the soul of
candour.
The diary was full ofreferences like this: Saw Mrs.
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