- •I opened the door wider and the person on the step, whom I now recognized, slipped, or dodged, into the flat. I retreated into the sitting-room, he following.
- •I opened the door and placed my hand on Arnold's chest. "Go in and look at her," I said to Francis. "There's some blood."
- •I do not know why I thought then so promptly and prophetically of death. Perhaps it was because Rachel, half under the bedclothes, had covered her face with the sheet.
- •I thought, He will soon feel resentment against me because of this. I said, "Naturally I won't mention this business to anyone."
- •I remembered that Arnold had mentioned rather unenthusiastically a "hairy swain," an art student or something.
- •I wondered if these were the views of the late Oscar Belling. "It's a long hard road, Julian, if that's what you believe."
- •I ran in to Arnold. "Could you stay with Priscilla? The doctor said she shouldn't be left alone."
- •I ran in to Arnold. "Could you stay with Priscilla? The doctor said she shouldn't be left alone."
- •I said to Arnold, "You left Priscilla."
- •I felt incoherent humiliation and rage. "You deliberately drove her out. She says you tried to poison her—"
- •I felt utter confusion. Had there been a child after all? Was this she?
- •I said, "I'm not going to wait while you pack these cases." I could not bear to see the girl shaking out Priscilla's things and folding them neatly. "You can send them on to my flat."
- •In the end Rachel and Arnold and Francis and I left the house together. At least, I just turned and walked out, and the others followed somehow.
- •I knew at once from her voice that she was alone. A woman can put so much into the way she says your name.
- •I said soothingly, "There you are, Priscilla. There's your water— buffalo lady. She came back home to you after all."
- •I said, "I suppose we think of the past as a tunnel. The present is lighted. Farther back it gets more shadowy."
- •I jerked away from her. "Rachel, you aren't just doing this to spite Arnold?"
- •I reflected. "Yes."
- •It was not until later that I remembered that she had gone away still wearing my socks.
- •I turned on Arnold, "I don't know what you think that Rachel—"
- •I said, "I don't believe you about you and Christian."
- •I felt some shame in asking her about Arnold and Rachel, but I wanted to be, and now was, sure that they had said nothing damaging about me.
- •I set off along the court and then along Charlotte Street, walking rather fast.
- •I wrote down the Notting Hill address.
- •I had just uttered Julian's name aloud. I got up. "Chris, do you mind, I must go. I've got something very important to do." Think about Julian.
- •I had just uttered Julian's name aloud. I got up. "Chris, do you mind, I must go. I've got something very important to do." Think about Julian.
- •I released Christian slowly and she looked at Arnold and went on laughing in a weary almost contented sort of way, "Oh dear, oh dear—"I'm just off," I said to Arnold.
- •I had not intended to tell him. It was something to do with Pris— cilla that I did. The pity of it. And then a sense of being battered beyond caring.
- •I hesitated. "Yes." There was much that I would have some day to lay before her. But not today.
- •It had begun to rain. I had put on my macintosh and was standing in the hall wondering if tears would help. I imagined pushing Arnold violently aside and leaping up the stairs. But what then?
- •I ran into my bedroom and hurled clothes into a suitcase. Then I returned to the sitting-room.
- •I picked it up. One of the buffalo's front legs was broken off jaggedly near the body. I laid the bronze on its side in the lacquer cabinet.
- •I was asleep two seconds later. We woke at dawn and embraced each other again, but with the same result.
- •I had noticed that. "Yes."
- •I went and locked it and then sat down again facing her. "Are you cold?"
- •I had the strange feeling that I was speaking these words. I was speaking through her, through the pure echoing emptiness of her being, hollowed by love.
- •I was dressing.
- •I thought for a moment. "All right. You might be useful."
- •324 Мультиязыковой проект Ильи Франка www.Franklang.Ru
I ran in to Arnold. "Could you stay with Priscilla? The doctor said she shouldn't be left alone."
Arnold looked displeased. "I suppose I can stay. Is there any drink? I wanted to talk to you about Rachel, actually, and about that funny letter you wrote me. Where are you off to?"
"I'm going to see Christian."
Marriage is a curious institution, as I have already remarked. I cannot quite see how it can be possible. People who boast of happy marriages are, I submit, usually self-deceivers, if not actually liars. The human soul is not framed for continued proximity, and the result of this enforced neighbourhood is often an appalling loneliness for which the rules of the game forbid assuagement. There is nothing like the bootless solitude of those who are caged together. Those outside the cage can, to their own taste, satisfy their need for society by more or less organized dashes in the direction of other human beings. But the unit of two can scarcely communicate with others, and is fortunate, as the years go by, if it can communicate within itself. Or is this the sour envious view of the failed husband? I speak now of course of ordinary "successful" marriages. Where the unit of two is a machine of mutual hatred there is hell in a pure form. I left Christian before our hell was quite perfected. I saw very clearly what it would be like.
"You've met her, you've discussed me, you think she's 'a most enormously nice person—"Bradley, don't shout. I—The telephone rings again.
I go and lift the receiver.
"Brad! I say, is that really you? Guess who this is!"
I put the telephone down, settling it carefully back onto its stand.
I went back into the sitting-room and sat down. "That was her."
"You've gone quite white. You're not going to faint, are you? Can I get you something? Please forgive me for talking so stupidly. Is she hanging on?"
"No. I put the thing—down—The telephone rings again. I do nothing.
"Bradley, let me talk to her."
"No."
I get to the telephone just after Arnold has lifted the receiver. I bang it back onto the rest.
"Bradley, don't you see, you've got to deal with this, you can't shirk it, you can't. She'll come round in a taxi."
The telephone rings again. I lift it up and hold it a little way off. Christian's voice, even with the American tang, is recognizable. The years drop away. "Brad, do listen, please. I'm round at the flat, you know, our old place. Why won't you come round? I've got some Scotch. Brad, please don't just bang the phone down, don't be mean. Come round and see me. I do so want to take a look at you. I'll be here all day, till five o'clock anyway."
I put the telephone down.
"She wants me to go and see her."
"You've got to, you've got to, it's your fate!"
"I'm not going."
The telephone rings again. I take it off and lay it down on the table. It bubbles remotely. Priscilla calls in a shrill voice, "Bradley!"
"Don't touch that," I said to Arnold, pointing at the telephone. I went in to Priscilla.
"Is that Arnold Baffin out there?" She was sitting on the side of the bed. I saw with surprise that she had put on her blouse and skirt and was putting some thick yellowish-pinkish muck onto her nose.
"Yes."
"I think I'll come out to see him. I want to thank him."
"As you like. Look, Priscilla, I'm going to be away for an hour or two. Will you be all right? I'll come back at lunch time, maybe a bit late. I'll ask Arnold to stay with you."
"You will come back soon?"
"Yes, yes."