Chapter Eleven (第2/2页)
No, sir. I never hey are all Mrs Riverss fancy.
I speak, as a servant migantly, some otance, o provide tory ors to seek t. e do not they will, however.
tor nods again. And Mrs Rivers, ;fancy". hen did such fancies begin?
I srange, I say quietly. ts at Briar e righer was mad, sir.
Noing. tors dont to s. Go on ions, only.
Yes, sir, I say. I gaze at ters rising from thick as needles.
And Mrs Riverss marriage, says tor. affect her?
It , sir, I say, ime, so love Mr Rivers; and of , sarted up very queer ..."
tor looks at matc is quite remarkable!—as if, in making a burden of o burden to anotter able to bear it. Sion of urns to me. A fi, indeed, fully. tell me tress care for books? for reading?
I meet my t seems to close, or be splintered, like t anserary life. ed to t of learning, and sao ion as o a sons. Mrs Riverss first passion was books.
t! says tor. leman I dont doubt. But to literature— t. e are raising a nation of brain-cultured ress, Im afraid to say, is part of a ure of our race, Mr Rivers, I may tell you noart of t ret bout of insanity? Could t—or ouc for t . I oo, t she wears ne ring.
Ricarts into life at tends to dra. tune favours villains.
is, t
it from imagiions t produced, sir, in my breast. s o s it. to t, a pallet of straw—! s enoug h his uery.
A cor. But o sural fancy—
Unnatural? says Rige. A knoo keep it from you. I feel no.
Indeed? says tor. ther pauses, his pencil raised.
Rics once I knourn my face to . he speaks, before I .
Susan, o feel sress. You need feel none, attaco you. You did noto invite or ence ttentions my empted to for you—
es at ors stare, turn to gaze at me.
Miss Smit, leaning closer, is true?
I t as s be noisfied to rayed me, glad to suppose to return at last to down, You pearl. . .
Miss Smith?
I o weep.
Surely, says Rie, putting ears speak for to o reful poses—to ed lemen?
Of course, says tor quickly, moving back. Of course. Miss Smit. You need not fear for your safety, no fear for ty of your mistress. yours. tand—a case sucreatment may hy one . . .?
t papers, and look for a surfa t. Ricable of brus c, but ogeto saircase t beside tands in to they drive off.
teps to me and tosses to my lap. oget capers.
You devil, I say, passion, ears from my cheek.
s. o ts o my o eitilts it batil azes meet. Look at me, ell me, ly, t you dont admire me.
I e you.
e yourself, t to love us, for ts? t does! t to be got from love; from s, ricer may be is true. You are like me. I say it again: e me, e yourself.
least. I y eyes.
I say, I do.
to knock upon our door. calls for o enter.
Look e istress. Dont you ttle brig day, for the madhouse.
So dress me, for time.
t on or draill, t Briar, t is spotted er. S is turo t taking up my linen, my sting tined for London, t, as s is o co see ticoat, a pair of stogs or so kno to take, in case ts are cool. No and ttle of drops, my gloves) s her bag.
And o s kno Briar, ed tooth.
t . oo tall for tilting ep outside, rety room so long, to me. I t give it up—give it up, for ever!—I tate.
.
t, as more tter of galloping urning journey, iles, from to Briar: I put my face to the window
as t expect to see tcill, I kno. But, t er. It ics, only. t in bare earts door—tall floips like spikes.
I fall ba my seat. Ricches my eye.
Dont be afraid, he says.
take o tands before me at t.
ait, I are you doing? tlemelemen!—an odd and formal phrase.
tors speak in sootones, until so curse; tilts, tilted, earing from its pins. e. her look is wild, already.
like a stone, until Ricakes my arm and presses, .
Speak, , clear, meically:
Oress! darker fleck. umbling is breaking!
t about ter Rico life and turned us. e do not speak. Beside Ric I see ill struggling, lifting o point or reacrees. I take off my to tcrembling hands.
ell— he says.
Dont speak to me, I say, almost spitting to me, I shall kill you.
tempts to smile. But rangely and ly one lengtakes a cigarette from , and a matcries to dra e. aggers, beats upon to stop t o ts o t imes. I ch him.
akes again, you are now.
And h a sneer.
turns s ting ds, co sleep.
My oay open. I gaze t travelled—a , like a t.
e make part of our journey like t t give up take a train. I rain before. e at a try statio an inn, since Ricill afraid t my uncle men to c us in a private room and briea and bread-and-butter. I look at tray. tea groands at ttles t, ts out: God damn you, do you take food for you, for free? s tter , after t lemans labour, receiving leman in cuffs. damn porter? o sickets, I wonder?
At last a boy appears to fetcake s. e stand on tation platform and study they shine, as if polished.
In time to purr, and tly, like nerves in failio rain es ling about track, a plume of smoke at its s many doors unfolding. I keep my veil about my face. Rico to it, per my quite private, till London? takes han ever.
t I must pay a man to t cely, tle virgin of a me tell you noe at of ts of to c your share.
I say notrain en o roll upon its tracks. I feel t, and grip trap of leatil my ers in its glove.
So t seems to me t cross vast distances of space.—For you and t my sense of distand space is ratrange. e stop at a village of red-bricked anot a t every station t seems to me a press of people clam to board, train—perurn it.
I to be crusrain; and almost hey do.
t. treets and treets and spires t seen; more eady traffic of cattle and ve. But Ricudies me as I gaze, and smiles unpleasantly. Your natural op at tation and I see t: MAIDENhEAD.
tly y miles, and y to go. I sit, still gripping trap, leaning close to t tation is filled he men idly walking; and from
train gives a s bulk, and so terrible life. e leave treets of Maidenrees. Beyond trees t as my uncles, some greater. tages icks for climbing beans, and rees, on buss of broken carts—laundry everywhere, drooping and yellow.
I keep my pose and c all. Look, Maud, I ture. y, unfolding like a bolt of cloth . . .
I hey have her in, now.
Ricries to see beyond my veil. Youre not rouble over it still.
I say, Dont look at me.
S Briar, . You kno, soon, t it. Believe me, I kno only be patient. e must botient une bees ours. I am sorry I spoke London, soon. t to you t;
I do not ans last, up. to ty. treaks of soot upon ttages o be replaced by o patco ditcco dark als, to dreary es of road, to mounds of stones or soil or asill, Even as of your freedom—and I feel, despite myself, t of excitement. But tement bees unease. I rising, straig
supposed it plete: but c red land, and gaping trenc celess roofs and jutting spars of wood, naked as bones.
Nos upon ts in train begins to rise. I dont like tion. e begin to cross streets—grey streets, black streets—so many monotonous streets, I to tell t! Sucalloton aste. ords, every.—Broug Carriages.—Paper-Stainers.—Supported Entirely.—to Let!— to Let!—By Voluntary Subscription.—
t, train and cast t, vast, vaulting roof of tarnis eam and fluttering birds. e so a frig. t seems to me—of a thousand people.
Paddington terminus, says Richard. e on.
look at me—I ake s. e stand in a line of people—a queue, I kno for a carriage—a y ells ones driver to go about ts Park. I knoy of opportunities fulfilled. tling and clamour, I do not kno is t uand. It is marked I ot read it. ty, tition, of
brick, of reet, of person—of dress, aure, and expression—stuns and exs me. I stand at Ricle is blos—ordinary melemen—pass by us, running-
e take our pla t last, and are jerked out of terminus into se. Are you startled, by treets? pass t did you expect? ty, mind it. Dont mind it at all. e are going to your new home.
to our , I , I will sleep.
to our udies me a moment lo troubles you— he blind.
And so once again , and so tion of a coac, time, by all t see it see e takes, at all: per kno, if I did, tudied maps of ty, and kno say, ir of my senses and . Be bold, I am this. Be bold!
Ris for s. From ed, and blink at t— t ty fleece of a sed to find myself at to tered streets t appear to me unspeakably s, dead ained arcc his arm.
Is t? I say.
Quite rig be alarmed. e ot live grandly, yet. And make our entra s all.
You are still afraid t my uncle may men, to ch
usr
alk soon, indoors. Not s.
o follo. Not far, nourn into anotained and broken face of ake to be a single great errace of narroc makes me er. Soain, into a lane of ding idly about a bird, s o tug at my sleeve, my cloak, my veil. Rice, turn to take anotier, patime gripping me er, faster, certain of mind t a little furt.
And at last, , tles. te from o one of to dra, so blad foul is it, I suddenly ate, and pull against his grip.
e on, urning round, not smiling.
e to where? I ask him.
to your ne ed for you to start it, too long. to our s us. e, now.—Or shall I leave you here?
ired, her pas-
sages, but tening o let us e, to trap me.
I do? I ot go back, aloo treet, ty. I ot go back to Sue. I am not meant to. Everyto t. I must go foro exist. I t is ing for me: of ts key t urn; of the bed, on which I shall lie and sleep, and sleep—
I ate, one seore; t o t is s, and ends of sairs, leading dourn, end at a door, on , quick footsteps, a grinding bolt. t. t Richard and nods.
All right? he says.
All rigy o stay.
ting to make out tures beo let us pass tig our backs.
tcs kitc is small, and , and one or table and—perer all, ters—a brazier in a cage, ools about it. Beside ts do-faced, red-ceetrip of dry meat, and dressed—I notice traordinary coat, t seems pieced togeties of fur. s jao keep it from barking. Ric me. and gloves and bo. les.
price togs, he says.
t creaks as it tilts—a rike cs it dles from , and tonised brazier, t of fur—it is a sleeping, swollen-.
I look at Ric aken ands smiling oddly. Everyone is silent. No-one moves save te- table. Saffeta, t rustles. o me, sands before me, ries to catcures. Ss ill close and terribly eager. red o me, I flinc ill does not is se, pels me. I stand a s it back. And traill, h her fingers.
S speaks to Ricears of age, or of emotion.
Good boy, she says.
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No, sir. I never hey are all Mrs Riverss fancy.
I speak, as a servant migantly, some otance, o provide tory ors to seek t. e do not they will, however.
tor nods again. And Mrs Rivers, ;fancy". hen did such fancies begin?
I srange, I say quietly. ts at Briar e righer was mad, sir.
Noing. tors dont to s. Go on ions, only.
Yes, sir, I say. I gaze at ters rising from thick as needles.
And Mrs Riverss marriage, says tor. affect her?
It , sir, I say, ime, so love Mr Rivers; and of , sarted up very queer ..."
tor looks at matc is quite remarkable!—as if, in making a burden of o burden to anotter able to bear it. Sion of urns to me. A fi, indeed, fully. tell me tress care for books? for reading?
I meet my t seems to close, or be splintered, like t anserary life. ed to t of learning, and sao ion as o a sons. Mrs Riverss first passion was books.
t! says tor. leman I dont doubt. But to literature— t. e are raising a nation of brain-cultured ress, Im afraid to say, is part of a ure of our race, Mr Rivers, I may tell you noart of t ret bout of insanity? Could t—or ouc for t . I oo, t she wears ne ring.
Ricarts into life at tends to dra. tune favours villains.
is, t
it from imagiions t produced, sir, in my breast. s o s it. to t, a pallet of straw—! s enoug h his uery.
A cor. But o sural fancy—
Unnatural? says Rige. A knoo keep it from you. I feel no.
Indeed? says tor. ther pauses, his pencil raised.
Rics once I knourn my face to . he speaks, before I .
Susan, o feel sress. You need feel none, attaco you. You did noto invite or ence ttentions my empted to for you—
es at ors stare, turn to gaze at me.
Miss Smit, leaning closer, is true?
I t as s be noisfied to rayed me, glad to suppose to return at last to down, You pearl. . .
Miss Smith?
I o weep.
Surely, says Rie, putting ears speak for to o reful poses—to ed lemen?
Of course, says tor quickly, moving back. Of course. Miss Smit. You need not fear for your safety, no fear for ty of your mistress. yours. tand—a case sucreatment may hy one . . .?
t papers, and look for a surfa t. Ricable of brus c, but ogeto saircase t beside tands in to they drive off.
teps to me and tosses to my lap. oget capers.
You devil, I say, passion, ears from my cheek.
s. o ts o my o eitilts it batil azes meet. Look at me, ell me, ly, t you dont admire me.
I e you.
e yourself, t to love us, for ts? t does! t to be got from love; from s, ricer may be is true. You are like me. I say it again: e me, e yourself.
least. I y eyes.
I say, I do.
to knock upon our door. calls for o enter.
Look e istress. Dont you ttle brig day, for the madhouse.
So dress me, for time.
t on or draill, t Briar, t is spotted er. S is turo t taking up my linen, my sting tined for London, t, as s is o co see ticoat, a pair of stogs or so kno to take, in case ts are cool. No and ttle of drops, my gloves) s her bag.
And o s kno Briar, ed tooth.
t . oo tall for tilting ep outside, rety room so long, to me. I t give it up—give it up, for ever!—I tate.
.
t, as more tter of galloping urning journey, iles, from to Briar: I put my face to the window
as t expect to see tcill, I kno. But, t er. It ics, only. t in bare earts door—tall floips like spikes.
I fall ba my seat. Ricches my eye.
Dont be afraid, he says.
take o tands before me at t.
ait, I are you doing? tlemelemen!—an odd and formal phrase.
tors speak in sootones, until so curse; tilts, tilted, earing from its pins. e. her look is wild, already.
like a stone, until Ricakes my arm and presses, .
Speak, , clear, meically:
Oress! darker fleck. umbling is breaking!
t about ter Rico life and turned us. e do not speak. Beside Ric I see ill struggling, lifting o point or reacrees. I take off my to tcrembling hands.
ell— he says.
Dont speak to me, I say, almost spitting to me, I shall kill you.
tempts to smile. But rangely and ly one lengtakes a cigarette from , and a matcries to dra e. aggers, beats upon to stop t o ts o t imes. I ch him.
akes again, you are now.
And h a sneer.
turns s ting ds, co sleep.
My oay open. I gaze t travelled—a , like a t.
e make part of our journey like t t give up take a train. I rain before. e at a try statio an inn, since Ricill afraid t my uncle men to c us in a private room and briea and bread-and-butter. I look at tray. tea groands at ttles t, ts out: God damn you, do you take food for you, for free? s tter , after t lemans labour, receiving leman in cuffs. damn porter? o sickets, I wonder?
At last a boy appears to fetcake s. e stand on tation platform and study they shine, as if polished.
In time to purr, and tly, like nerves in failio rain es ling about track, a plume of smoke at its s many doors unfolding. I keep my veil about my face. Rico to it, per my quite private, till London? takes han ever.
t I must pay a man to t cely, tle virgin of a me tell you noe at of ts of to c your share.
I say notrain en o roll upon its tracks. I feel t, and grip trap of leatil my ers in its glove.
So t seems to me t cross vast distances of space.—For you and t my sense of distand space is ratrange. e stop at a village of red-bricked anot a t every station t seems to me a press of people clam to board, train—perurn it.
I to be crusrain; and almost hey do.
t. treets and treets and spires t seen; more eady traffic of cattle and ve. But Ricudies me as I gaze, and smiles unpleasantly. Your natural op at tation and I see t: MAIDENhEAD.
tly y miles, and y to go. I sit, still gripping trap, leaning close to t tation is filled he men idly walking; and from
train gives a s bulk, and so terrible life. e leave treets of Maidenrees. Beyond trees t as my uncles, some greater. tages icks for climbing beans, and rees, on buss of broken carts—laundry everywhere, drooping and yellow.
I keep my pose and c all. Look, Maud, I ture. y, unfolding like a bolt of cloth . . .
I hey have her in, now.
Ricries to see beyond my veil. Youre not rouble over it still.
I say, Dont look at me.
S Briar, . You kno, soon, t it. Believe me, I kno only be patient. e must botient une bees ours. I am sorry I spoke London, soon. t to you t;
I do not ans last, up. to ty. treaks of soot upon ttages o be replaced by o patco ditcco dark als, to dreary es of road, to mounds of stones or soil or asill, Even as of your freedom—and I feel, despite myself, t of excitement. But tement bees unease. I rising, straig
supposed it plete: but c red land, and gaping trenc celess roofs and jutting spars of wood, naked as bones.
Nos upon ts in train begins to rise. I dont like tion. e begin to cross streets—grey streets, black streets—so many monotonous streets, I to tell t! Sucalloton aste. ords, every.—Broug Carriages.—Paper-Stainers.—Supported Entirely.—to Let!— to Let!—By Voluntary Subscription.—
t, train and cast t, vast, vaulting roof of tarnis eam and fluttering birds. e so a frig. t seems to me—of a thousand people.
Paddington terminus, says Richard. e on.
look at me—I ake s. e stand in a line of people—a queue, I kno for a carriage—a y ells ones driver to go about ts Park. I knoy of opportunities fulfilled. tling and clamour, I do not kno is t uand. It is marked I ot read it. ty, tition, of
brick, of reet, of person—of dress, aure, and expression—stuns and exs me. I stand at Ricle is blos—ordinary melemen—pass by us, running-
e take our pla t last, and are jerked out of terminus into se. Are you startled, by treets? pass t did you expect? ty, mind it. Dont mind it at all. e are going to your new home.
to our , I , I will sleep.
to our udies me a moment lo troubles you— he blind.
And so once again , and so tion of a coac, time, by all t see it see e takes, at all: per kno, if I did, tudied maps of ty, and kno say, ir of my senses and . Be bold, I am this. Be bold!
Ris for s. From ed, and blink at t— t ty fleece of a sed to find myself at to tered streets t appear to me unspeakably s, dead ained arcc his arm.
Is t? I say.
Quite rig be alarmed. e ot live grandly, yet. And make our entra s all.
You are still afraid t my uncle may men, to ch
usr
alk soon, indoors. Not s.
o follo. Not far, nourn into anotained and broken face of ake to be a single great errace of narroc makes me er. Soain, into a lane of ding idly about a bird, s o tug at my sleeve, my cloak, my veil. Rice, turn to take anotier, patime gripping me er, faster, certain of mind t a little furt.
And at last, , tles. te from o one of to dra, so blad foul is it, I suddenly ate, and pull against his grip.
e on, urning round, not smiling.
e to where? I ask him.
to your ne ed for you to start it, too long. to our s us. e, now.—Or shall I leave you here?
ired, her pas-
sages, but tening o let us e, to trap me.
I do? I ot go back, aloo treet, ty. I ot go back to Sue. I am not meant to. Everyto t. I must go foro exist. I t is ing for me: of ts key t urn; of the bed, on which I shall lie and sleep, and sleep—
I ate, one seore; t o t is s, and ends of sairs, leading dourn, end at a door, on , quick footsteps, a grinding bolt. t. t Richard and nods.
All right? he says.
All rigy o stay.
ting to make out tures beo let us pass tig our backs.
tcs kitc is small, and , and one or table and—perer all, ters—a brazier in a cage, ools about it. Beside ts do-faced, red-ceetrip of dry meat, and dressed—I notice traordinary coat, t seems pieced togeties of fur. s jao keep it from barking. Ric me. and gloves and bo. les.
price togs, he says.
t creaks as it tilts—a rike cs it dles from , and tonised brazier, t of fur—it is a sleeping, swollen-.
I look at Ric aken ands smiling oddly. Everyone is silent. No-one moves save te- table. Saffeta, t rustles. o me, sands before me, ries to catcures. Ss ill close and terribly eager. red o me, I flinc ill does not is se, pels me. I stand a s it back. And traill, h her fingers.
S speaks to Ricears of age, or of emotion.
Good boy, she says.
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