Chapter Eight (第1/2页)
I om, occasionally to invite ied gentlemen to to take a supper er, hear me read. he does so now.
Make yourself onigo me, as I stand in toning up my gloves. e ss. rey, ranger. I o employ ing of our pictures.
Our pictures. ts, in a separate study, filled my uncle ed in a desultory sort of manner, along en spoken of taking on some man to trim and mount t o matcask. One needs a quite particular cer, for sort.
cs out rey claims to for us, besides. Aion of a text alogued.
t is great news, sir.
Per my u mark it. s o to t me see . . .
May I leave you, Uncle?
ruck?
It has, I believe.
from c to o , at tem, —s. o —gently, Maud.
Yes, Uncle.
No engaged by oo used to ticular rangely, or not at all, and imagines me an ageless cimes t is , tig saso a form I sleap. My uime, I suppose, not quite above fifty—I o ly and permaly aged; as flies remain aged, yet fixed and unging, in cloudy chips of amber.
I leave ing at a page of text. I ly, in soft-soled so my rooms, where Agnes is.
I find a piece of seemperament like mine? I stand and co sitc last I take tly put t of it against off; t it back; times more, until h a rash of needle-pricks.
to be gentlemen onig. One a stranger. Do you suppose he will be young, and handsome?
I say it—idly enougeasing. It is noto me. But she hears me, and colours.
I t say, miss, surning drawing her hand away, however. Perhaps.
You think so?
be.
I study ruck h a new idea.
S if he was?
Like it, miss?
Like it, Agnes. It seems to me no you en at turn te private.
O nonsense!
Is it? urn your like it, having a prick upon your palm!
Sakes , and begins to cry. t of ears—and of of tender fles I abbed—first stirs, troubles me; tand at my rattling dips to thames.
ill you be quiet? I say, c you! tears, fentleman! Dont you kno be you knohey never are?
But of course, h.
Mr Rie. Later I to be false—as false as noand in to make me o doubt ures, evealler t a foot. , but is long: a curl springs from its plad tumbles across s a o it, repeatedly. for a single finger, stained yelloe we.
Miss Lilly, oained s to brus back. ioned in advance, by Mr rey.
Mr rey is a London bookseller and publisher, and has been
many times to Briar. akes my . Beleman collector, a friend from my uncles youtakes my takes it to drao hen kisses my cheek. Dear child, he says.
I imes surprised by Mr airs. o stand and chem.
sey.
But it is Mr Rivers I cell. But, o be o table, I see ate; t to mine. I io c like to be g. Mr ay and Cly about us, filling lasses—mi crystal cup, cut upon our plates, ts leave: tay ur Briar , as lemen lasts one hour and a half.
e are served ; t t ts innards devilled and passed about table. Mr rey takes a dainty kidney, Mr Rivers . I s te he offers.
Im afraid youre not ly, g my face.
Dont you care foose, Miss Lilly? asks Mr rey. Nor does my eldest daugearful.
I cears aen to see tears of a girl made into an ink.
An ink? Doion it to my daug I must s, is oc be he living.
tears, for ink? says my uncle, a beat be rubbishis?
Girls tears, says Mr huss.
Quite colourless.
I t. truly, sir, I t. I fancy tely tinged—per.
Perrey, as depending on tion t hem?
Exactly. You it, rey, t tears, for a melanc migoo, ; me and s o h.
No t tempted. Mr Lilly? One ories of course, of hides and bindings
time. Mr Rivers listens but says ion is all alk. I . I sip my suppers like tedious points in small, tigoo many times. Uedly, I teasing a bead of blood from , and I blink.
So, Rivers, rey tells me ranslating, Frencter into Englisuff, I suppose, if .
Poor stuff indeed, a it. It is erms; but it udent of ts t I ely to find a better application for my talents, sir, the juring of bad English from worse French.
ell, ures.
Very mudeed.
ell, anot. than for my books, however. Youve heard, perhaps—he pauses—of my Index?
Mr Rivers ines sounds a marvellous thing.
Pretty marvellous—e, are ? Do we blush?
I know my own s, searcful gaze.
ly.
e are close, ansation h finishers.
And th?
A thousand pages.
Mr rey raises emper it, wle. her slice of goose.
to you last.
For t volume, of course. ter. t, Rivers?
Astonishing, sir.
s like? An universal bibliograp Englishmen.
t to life. A fantastic ac.
Fantastideed—more so, exts I collect must cloak tity iion and anonymity. t texts tamped ail as to plad date of publication and impress. titles. t t pass darkly, via secret . sider to to me, sir, of fantastic labour! rembles in a mirter.
I ot ceive it, says Mr Rivers. And the Index is anised . . .?
By title, by name, by date abled, most precisely
the books?
tly, Maud?
tlemen turn to me. I sip my t, I say, of Men for Beasts.
My unods. So, so, ance our bibliograpo tudent of t able Bible.
trey, smiling, enjoying tcill looking early at my uncle.
A great ambition, he says now.
A great labour, says Mr huss.
Indeed, says Mr rey, turning again to me. I am afraid, Miss Lilly, your uncle tio work you very mercilessly.
I so task, I say, as servants are.
Servants and young ladies, says Mr sorts of creatures. said so, many times? Girls eyes s be he gripping of pens.
So my uncle believes, I say, s is o save, of course, not my fingers.
And inius, so dedicated a collector he sake of his library.
te, drive o violence for literatures sake, and we shall never five you.
tlemen laugh.
ell, well, says my uncle.
I study my ial quite invisible until I turn tal; ts leap out.
to be sat tlemen join me in their
voices and last ttle pinker in trey produces a package, bound in paper and string. to my uncle, whe ings.
So, so, o tle grubbian us. do you say?
It is a on novel in a ta ispiece t renders it rare. I look and, despite myself, feel tirrings of a dry excitement. tion makes me queasy. I say, A very fi a doubt. See ? I see it.
I dont believe go back. And t entry plete? e surn to it, tomorrocicipation of pleasure. For noake yloves off, girl. Do you suppose rey brings us books to o ts better. Lets tle of it. Do you sit, ao us. sit also. Rivers, mark my nieces voice, and clear she spine, Maud!
Indeed, Mr Lilly, s, says Mr my uncovered hands.
I place tand and carefully urn a lamp so t its lig upon t. how long shall I read for, Uncle?
s c il t oclooe tell me if you suppose its like may be entered in any lish drawing-room!
ties; but my uncle is rigraioo rue and makes t s. hen I
rey claps, and Mr roubled. My us acles removed, an angle, ight.
Poor omorro of t.—Maud, te u?
Yes, sir.
ton up my gloves, smoot. I turn t. But I am scious of myself. I am scious of Mr Rivers. ly excitement, s a little nervously upon tly and scorce about to gaze into my uncles book-presses—noccime c is rat you like, Miss Lilly, to sit closer to the flames?
I ans.
You like to be cool, he says.
I like the shadows.
akes it as a kind of invitation, lifts , tc rousers and sits beside me, not too close, still racted by t whe shadows.
Mr rey stands at ts a glass. My uled into s est p, sir, by seventy years! tioure no shoes my horse . . .
I stifle a yaurns to me. I say, Five me Vf Rivers.
care for your uncles sub ject.
ill speaks in a murmur; and I am obliged to make my oary, I say t is noto me.
Again alks on It is only curious, to see a lady left cool and unmoved, by t ion.
But t you speak of; and arent tter best, moved least? I cat experience of t from my reading merely. But I s—o e a palling in eries of too often to tiny of wafer and wine.
blink. At last laughs.
You are very uniss Lilly
I look aand.
Aone is a bitter one. Perion a sort of misfortune.
On trary. be a misfortuo be ance, in tter of a gentlemans attentions. I am a oisseur of all ties of metleman migo pliment a lady
s e o . ted indeed, only to pliment you.
I a gentlemen s, t one.
Per in t you are used to. But in life—a great many; and o is chief.
I supposed, I say, t t ten for.
O, but ten for somet of—money. Every gentleman minds t. And those of us who are
not quite so gentlemanly as most of all.—I am sorry to embarrass you.
I , I o be quite beyond embarrassment. I am only surprised.
t take a satisfa from t I s o is someto me, o y of yourdays.
ingly my cill.
do you knohose?
I surmise, from my observation of the house . . .
No edly: do you this?
Of w, sir?
Of reys g, now, of pography.
Pography?
Rivers, says Mr rey. You are a young man. I appeal to you. t record of tory act—
Record! says my uncle, peevisary! the age!
—of tory act, tograp t tograper to t of t is an image of life, and age over it: t it endures, finish and fade.
Dot a book endure? asks my uncle, plug at the arm of his chair.
It e, in a pograp speak tograp in an Englis last us all, and I provoke in randsons. It is a t from ory.1
It is gripped by ory! ans is corrupted by it! Its ory it like so mu
tting of a slipper, a goograpo yrandson: udy t. tips of your moustac you think so Rivers?
I do, sir.
You kno alloypes and nonsense like t into my colle?
I t not to, sir.
Mr rey so my uncle: You still believe pograp e to reet, and spend an o c is all our buyers e for.
Your buyers are brutes. business is your opinion as to ty of reys trade . . .?
te alk until triking of ten oclock—whem.
t is t. Mr Rivers is due to remain at Briar until Sunday. day I am kept from t supper cero sit again e to my side. Saturday I see urday nigique book, one of —and ts beside me, to study its singular covers.
You like it, Rivers? asks my uncle as is very rare?
I s must be, sir.
And you t, t ther copies?
I , yes.
So you mig ors, y by otem rare, if no-one s it? e call t a dead
book. But, say a score of identical copies are sougand me?
Mr Rivers nods. I do. ticle is relative to t is very quaint. And we heard?
My uncle gro up for au, and see! ha?
Mr Rivers laugo be sure, yes . . .
But beyond teness, ful. es eet t and surprising pink. rey fusses hen he speaks again.
And w of a pair of books, Mr Lilly, by a single buyer? o be valued?
A pair? My us dowo volumes?
A pair of plementary titles. A man o secure tly add to t?
Of course, sir!
I t it.
Men pay absurdly for sugs, says Mr huss.
to sucters, of course, in my Index ..."
tly; and talk o and listen—or pretend to—and soon urns and studies my face. May I ask you somet do you see, for yourself, after tion of your uncles work?—Now, w?
I
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I om, occasionally to invite ied gentlemen to to take a supper er, hear me read. he does so now.
Make yourself onigo me, as I stand in toning up my gloves. e ss. rey, ranger. I o employ ing of our pictures.
Our pictures. ts, in a separate study, filled my uncle ed in a desultory sort of manner, along en spoken of taking on some man to trim and mount t o matcask. One needs a quite particular cer, for sort.
cs out rey claims to for us, besides. Aion of a text alogued.
t is great news, sir.
Per my u mark it. s o to t me see . . .
May I leave you, Uncle?
ruck?
It has, I believe.
from c to o , at tem, —s. o —gently, Maud.
Yes, Uncle.
No engaged by oo used to ticular rangely, or not at all, and imagines me an ageless cimes t is , tig saso a form I sleap. My uime, I suppose, not quite above fifty—I o ly and permaly aged; as flies remain aged, yet fixed and unging, in cloudy chips of amber.
I leave ing at a page of text. I ly, in soft-soled so my rooms, where Agnes is.
I find a piece of seemperament like mine? I stand and co sitc last I take tly put t of it against off; t it back; times more, until h a rash of needle-pricks.
to be gentlemen onig. One a stranger. Do you suppose he will be young, and handsome?
I say it—idly enougeasing. It is noto me. But she hears me, and colours.
I t say, miss, surning drawing her hand away, however. Perhaps.
You think so?
be.
I study ruck h a new idea.
S if he was?
Like it, miss?
Like it, Agnes. It seems to me no you en at turn te private.
O nonsense!
Is it? urn your like it, having a prick upon your palm!
Sakes , and begins to cry. t of ears—and of of tender fles I abbed—first stirs, troubles me; tand at my rattling dips to thames.
ill you be quiet? I say, c you! tears, fentleman! Dont you kno be you knohey never are?
But of course, h.
Mr Rie. Later I to be false—as false as noand in to make me o doubt ures, evealler t a foot. , but is long: a curl springs from its plad tumbles across s a o it, repeatedly. for a single finger, stained yelloe we.
Miss Lilly, oained s to brus back. ioned in advance, by Mr rey.
Mr rey is a London bookseller and publisher, and has been
many times to Briar. akes my . Beleman collector, a friend from my uncles youtakes my takes it to drao hen kisses my cheek. Dear child, he says.
I imes surprised by Mr airs. o stand and chem.
sey.
But it is Mr Rivers I cell. But, o be o table, I see ate; t to mine. I io c like to be g. Mr ay and Cly about us, filling lasses—mi crystal cup, cut upon our plates, ts leave: tay ur Briar , as lemen lasts one hour and a half.
e are served ; t t ts innards devilled and passed about table. Mr rey takes a dainty kidney, Mr Rivers . I s te he offers.
Im afraid youre not ly, g my face.
Dont you care foose, Miss Lilly? asks Mr rey. Nor does my eldest daugearful.
I cears aen to see tears of a girl made into an ink.
An ink? Doion it to my daug I must s, is oc be he living.
tears, for ink? says my uncle, a beat be rubbishis?
Girls tears, says Mr huss.
Quite colourless.
I t. truly, sir, I t. I fancy tely tinged—per.
Perrey, as depending on tion t hem?
Exactly. You it, rey, t tears, for a melanc migoo, ; me and s o h.
No t tempted. Mr Lilly? One ories of course, of hides and bindings
time. Mr Rivers listens but says ion is all alk. I . I sip my suppers like tedious points in small, tigoo many times. Uedly, I teasing a bead of blood from , and I blink.
So, Rivers, rey tells me ranslating, Frencter into Englisuff, I suppose, if .
Poor stuff indeed, a it. It is erms; but it udent of ts t I ely to find a better application for my talents, sir, the juring of bad English from worse French.
ell, ures.
Very mudeed.
ell, anot. than for my books, however. Youve heard, perhaps—he pauses—of my Index?
Mr Rivers ines sounds a marvellous thing.
Pretty marvellous—e, are ? Do we blush?
I know my own s, searcful gaze.
ly.
e are close, ansation h finishers.
And th?
A thousand pages.
Mr rey raises emper it, wle. her slice of goose.
to you last.
For t volume, of course. ter. t, Rivers?
Astonishing, sir.
s like? An universal bibliograp Englishmen.
t to life. A fantastic ac.
Fantastideed—more so, exts I collect must cloak tity iion and anonymity. t texts tamped ail as to plad date of publication and impress. titles. t t pass darkly, via secret . sider to to me, sir, of fantastic labour! rembles in a mirter.
I ot ceive it, says Mr Rivers. And the Index is anised . . .?
By title, by name, by date abled, most precisely
the books?
tly, Maud?
tlemen turn to me. I sip my t, I say, of Men for Beasts.
My unods. So, so, ance our bibliograpo tudent of t able Bible.
trey, smiling, enjoying tcill looking early at my uncle.
A great ambition, he says now.
A great labour, says Mr huss.
Indeed, says Mr rey, turning again to me. I am afraid, Miss Lilly, your uncle tio work you very mercilessly.
I so task, I say, as servants are.
Servants and young ladies, says Mr sorts of creatures. said so, many times? Girls eyes s be he gripping of pens.
So my uncle believes, I say, s is o save, of course, not my fingers.
And inius, so dedicated a collector he sake of his library.
te, drive o violence for literatures sake, and we shall never five you.
tlemen laugh.
ell, well, says my uncle.
I study my ial quite invisible until I turn tal; ts leap out.
to be sat tlemen join me in their
voices and last ttle pinker in trey produces a package, bound in paper and string. to my uncle, whe ings.
So, so, o tle grubbian us. do you say?
It is a on novel in a ta ispiece t renders it rare. I look and, despite myself, feel tirrings of a dry excitement. tion makes me queasy. I say, A very fi a doubt. See ? I see it.
I dont believe go back. And t entry plete? e surn to it, tomorrocicipation of pleasure. For noake yloves off, girl. Do you suppose rey brings us books to o ts better. Lets tle of it. Do you sit, ao us. sit also. Rivers, mark my nieces voice, and clear she spine, Maud!
Indeed, Mr Lilly, s, says Mr my uncovered hands.
I place tand and carefully urn a lamp so t its lig upon t. how long shall I read for, Uncle?
s c il t oclooe tell me if you suppose its like may be entered in any lish drawing-room!
ties; but my uncle is rigraioo rue and makes t s. hen I
rey claps, and Mr roubled. My us acles removed, an angle, ight.
Poor omorro of t.—Maud, te u?
Yes, sir.
ton up my gloves, smoot. I turn t. But I am scious of myself. I am scious of Mr Rivers. ly excitement, s a little nervously upon tly and scorce about to gaze into my uncles book-presses—noccime c is rat you like, Miss Lilly, to sit closer to the flames?
I ans.
You like to be cool, he says.
I like the shadows.
akes it as a kind of invitation, lifts , tc rousers and sits beside me, not too close, still racted by t whe shadows.
Mr rey stands at ts a glass. My uled into s est p, sir, by seventy years! tioure no shoes my horse . . .
I stifle a yaurns to me. I say, Five me Vf Rivers.
care for your uncles sub ject.
ill speaks in a murmur; and I am obliged to make my oary, I say t is noto me.
Again alks on It is only curious, to see a lady left cool and unmoved, by t ion.
But t you speak of; and arent tter best, moved least? I cat experience of t from my reading merely. But I s—o e a palling in eries of too often to tiny of wafer and wine.
blink. At last laughs.
You are very uniss Lilly
I look aand.
Aone is a bitter one. Perion a sort of misfortune.
On trary. be a misfortuo be ance, in tter of a gentlemans attentions. I am a oisseur of all ties of metleman migo pliment a lady
s e o . ted indeed, only to pliment you.
I a gentlemen s, t one.
Per in t you are used to. But in life—a great many; and o is chief.
I supposed, I say, t t ten for.
O, but ten for somet of—money. Every gentleman minds t. And those of us who are
not quite so gentlemanly as most of all.—I am sorry to embarrass you.
I , I o be quite beyond embarrassment. I am only surprised.
t take a satisfa from t I s o is someto me, o y of yourdays.
ingly my cill.
do you knohose?
I surmise, from my observation of the house . . .
No edly: do you this?
Of w, sir?
Of reys g, now, of pography.
Pography?
Rivers, says Mr rey. You are a young man. I appeal to you. t record of tory act—
Record! says my uncle, peevisary! the age!
—of tory act, tograp t tograper to t of t is an image of life, and age over it: t it endures, finish and fade.
Dot a book endure? asks my uncle, plug at the arm of his chair.
It e, in a pograp speak tograp in an Englis last us all, and I provoke in randsons. It is a t from ory.1
It is gripped by ory! ans is corrupted by it! Its ory it like so mu
tting of a slipper, a goograpo yrandson: udy t. tips of your moustac you think so Rivers?
I do, sir.
You kno alloypes and nonsense like t into my colle?
I t not to, sir.
Mr rey so my uncle: You still believe pograp e to reet, and spend an o c is all our buyers e for.
Your buyers are brutes. business is your opinion as to ty of reys trade . . .?
te alk until triking of ten oclock—whem.
t is t. Mr Rivers is due to remain at Briar until Sunday. day I am kept from t supper cero sit again e to my side. Saturday I see urday nigique book, one of —and ts beside me, to study its singular covers.
You like it, Rivers? asks my uncle as is very rare?
I s must be, sir.
And you t, t ther copies?
I , yes.
So you mig ors, y by otem rare, if no-one s it? e call t a dead
book. But, say a score of identical copies are sougand me?
Mr Rivers nods. I do. ticle is relative to t is very quaint. And we heard?
My uncle gro up for au, and see! ha?
Mr Rivers laugo be sure, yes . . .
But beyond teness, ful. es eet t and surprising pink. rey fusses hen he speaks again.
And w of a pair of books, Mr Lilly, by a single buyer? o be valued?
A pair? My us dowo volumes?
A pair of plementary titles. A man o secure tly add to t?
Of course, sir!
I t it.
Men pay absurdly for sugs, says Mr huss.
to sucters, of course, in my Index ..."
tly; and talk o and listen—or pretend to—and soon urns and studies my face. May I ask you somet do you see, for yourself, after tion of your uncles work?—Now, w?
I
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