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From: | Nina Luna |
Subject: | [grt-talk] cynicism pleat |
Date: | Sat, 16 Sep 2006 13:56:41 +0900 |
Herpale-blue eyes peered forward through the mist
as she made her waytowards the railings.
But the truth was that she was nolonger able to
work as she had done. Hespoke gently, reproachfully, rather as if she were a child.
You should have had more self-control, he added,turning again to Sara.
Yes, yes, she said, as if to assure him that his
words wereright. A red-gold fume rose from the dust on the roads.
Now she looked at the foreigner opposite. Eleanor
is just the same, he thought: more erratic perhaps.
Crosby pulled herself together and totteredacross
the road into the High Street. She watched his cigarette moving up and down. And Im
quite ready to oblige you, she added aloud, as indeed shehad said to Louisa
herself.
Here is your hat; here is your bag, said Nicholas,
giving them toher. For they all had lines cut; phrases ready-made.
Because people always say the same thing, she
laughed. The bugles blew again beneath the window.
Whether he referred to the paper, or to what they
were saying,Eleanor did not know.
She went to the window andparted the curtains and
looked out. In thesilence they heard Maggies voice in the kitchen.
There was an _expression_ of suffering,or was it
anger?
Theywere in the middle of an argument, she
supposed. She had had some words thatmorning with Mrs Burt about the Counts
bath.
Eleanor began to hum in time to it: Hoity te,
toityte, hoity te. Here and there on a grass blade or on a hedgeleaf a drop hung
motionless. They seemed to be talking, privately,together.
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