10.10 她沉醉 tī 家己 ê 溫柔思想

10.10 Yi tīm-chùi tī ka-tī ê un-jiû su-sióng

Chit nn̄g ê cha-bó͘ ê ba̍k-kng sio-tú: Bolton Tt ê phú koh kim, koh kho̍k-kho̍k khòaⁿ; Connie ê nâ koh bū, te̍k-pia̍t bí-lē. Bolton Tt chha-put-to khak-tēng, yi ū khè-hiaⁿ, m̄-koh án-chóaⁿ kau, he sī siáng? Tah thó ū cha-po͘-lâng?

"Oh, lí nā put-sî chhut-khì kiâⁿ-kiâⁿ, chhōe phōaⁿ leh, he tùi lí chin hó," Bolton Tt kóng. "Góa chiah kā Clifford Sià kóng, Hu-jîn nā khah chia̍p kap lâng chhut-khì, tùi yi chin hó."

"Sī ah, góa mā chin hoaⁿ-hí góa ū chhut-khì, Clifford, hit ê gín-á kó͘-chui koh m̄-kiaⁿ chheⁿ-hūn," Connie kóng. "I ê thâu-bo͘ ná ti-tu-si, kim-kim n̂g-n̂g, ba̍k-chiu kim liù-liù, phú-nâ-sek, ná hûi-á. Tong-jiân he sī cha-bó͘, nā bô tō bē hiah hó-táⁿ, hó-táⁿ kah ná sió-sió Francis Drake Sià [thàm-hiám eng-hiông]."

"Hu-jîn kóng liáu tio̍h -- he sī chèng-siông ê sió Flint. In hit ka-cho̍k it-ti̍t lóng tōa-táⁿ koh âng thâu-mo͘," Bolton Tt kóng.

"Lí kám bô-ài khòaⁿ i, Clifford? Góa ū chhiáⁿ in lâi lim-tê, án-ne lí thang khòaⁿ i."

"Siáng?" i mn̄g, ná khòaⁿ Connie, kám-kak put-an.

"Flint Tt kap yin gín-á, āu lé-pài it."

"Lí ē-sái chhiáⁿ yin khì lí ê pâng-keng lim-tê," i kóng.

"Án-ná, lí bô-ài khòaⁿ gín-á?" yi hoah-siaⁿ.

"Oh, góa ē khòaⁿ i, m̄-koh góa bô boeh choân-thêng pôe yin lim-tê."

"Oh," Connie kiò, bâ-bū ê ba̍k-chiu tián tōa khoaⁿ i.

Yi pēng bô chin-chiàⁿ khòaⁿ i, i ná-chhiūⁿ sî pa̍t-lâng.

"Hu-jîn, lí ē-sái tī lí ê pâng-keng sù-sù sī-sī lim-tê, án-ne Flint Tt ē pí Clifford Sià chāi-tiûⁿ koh-khah chū-chāi," Bolton Tt kóng.

Yi khak-tēng Connie ū khè-hiaⁿ, yi ê lêng-hûn ū mi̍h-kiāⁿ teh giang. M̄-koh he sī siáng? Hoān-sè Flint Tt ē-tàng thê-kiong sòaⁿ-soh.

Chit àm, Connie m̄ sé sin-khu. Yi kám-kak i bak-kòe yi ê sin-khu, i he liâm-liâm ê bah teh tī yi téng-bīn, che chin pó-kùi, sī chi̍t chióng sîn-sèng.

Clifford chin put-an. Chia̍h àm liáu iáu m̄ pàng yi cháu, m̄-koh yi chin siūⁿ boeh tan-to̍k chi̍t lâng. Yi kim-kim kā khòaⁿ, m̄-koh chhut-kî ê sūn-ho̍k.

"Lán lâi ī-pâi-á, a̍h-sī góa thè lí tha̍k chheh, a̍h-sī lí siūⁿ boeh chhóng siáⁿ?" i put-an kā mn̄g.

"Lí ūi góa tha̍k-chheh," Connie kóng.

"Góa tio̍h tha̍k siáⁿ -- si a̍h sòaⁿ-bûn? A̍h hì-kio̍k?"

"Tha̍k Racine ê si," yi kóng.

Í-chêng, iōng chin-chiàⁿ Franse ko-sióng ê hong-sek tha̍k Racine ê si, it-ti̍t lóng sī i hèng ê chhut-thâu, m̄-koh taⁿ i seⁿ-sian ah, ka-tī mā ū kak-ngō͘; kî-si̍t i lêng-khó thiaⁿ rajíoh. M̄-koh Connie teh thīⁿ-saⁿ, iōng yi kū-saⁿ ê pò͘ teh thīⁿ chi̍t niá n̂g-sek si-á ê gín-á-saⁿ, boeh hō͘ Flint Tt ê gín-á. Tńg-chhù kàu chia̍h-àm tiong-kan yi chhâi-chián hó-sè, taⁿ yi chē leh, tîm-chùi tī un-jiû tiām-chēng ê chiam-sòaⁿ nih, tông-sî tha̍k-si ê siaⁿ iⁿ-iⁿ ōⁿ-ōⁿ kè-sio̍k tio̍h.

Tī yi sim-nih, yi kám-kak tio̍h jia̍t-chêng ê hiⁿ-siaⁿ, ná cheng-siaⁿ hiáng-liáu ê hiⁿ-siaⁿ.

Clifford kā yi kóng chi̍t kóa Racine ê tāi-chì. Ōe kóng liáu, yi chiah chai i kóng ê ì-sù.

"Sī! Sī!" yi kóng, ná khòaⁿ i. "He chiâⁿ chán."

I kiaⁿ khòaⁿ tio̍h yi he chhim-nâ ū-kng ê ba̍k-chiu, mā kiaⁿ khòaⁿ tio̍h yi jiû-jiû tiām-tiām chē tī hia. Yi m̄-bat hiah-nī choân-jiân ê un-jiû koh tiām-chēng. Yi sú i jím put-chū tio̍h-bê, ká-ná yi ū siáⁿ phang-bī hō͘ i bê-chùi. Só͘-í, i chí-hó kè-sio̍k tha̍k, he Franse ê âu-im hō͘ yi thiaⁿ tio̍h tō ná-chhiūⁿ ian-tâng nih ê hong-siaⁿ. Racine ê si, yi chi̍t kù mā bô thiaⁿ tio̍h.

Yi tîm-chùi tī ka-tī ê un-jiû su-sióng, ná-chhiūⁿ chhiū-nâ tī chhun-thiⁿ hoat-gê ê sî, he bî-bî, hoaⁿ-hí si-si sū-sū ê siaⁿ. Yi kám-kak ē tio̍h, yi kap hit lâng tī sio-kāng ê sè-kài, hit ê bô-miâ ê lâng, súi-súi ê siang-kha teh kiâⁿ, súi tī hit-ki ê sîn-pì. Iah yi ê múi chi̍t tiâu hoeh-me̍h lóng kám-kak tio̍h i kap i ê gín-á. I ê gín-á chhiong-móa yi ê hoeh-me̍h, ná-chhiūⁿ phú-kng.

"Yi [ài ê lú-sîn] bô chhiú, bô ba̍k-chiu, bô kha, mā bô kim-sek thâu-mo͘..."

Connie tō ná chhiū-nâ, ná-chhiūⁿ àm-àm kau-chhap ê chhiūⁿ-chhiū, hiⁿ chhut chhian-bān sin-gê teh hoat, thiaⁿ bē-tio̍h ê siaⁿ. Hit-sî, io̍k-bōng ê chiáu tī yi kau-chhap iù-tì ê sin-khu teh khùn.

M̄-koh Clifford ê siaⁿ bô thêng, ū-sî hiáng, ū-sî būn, hoat-chhut kok-chióng siaⁿ. Ū kàu kî-koài! I lâng mā kî-koài, àⁿ-sin hióng chheh, koài-kî koh tham-sim koh su-bûn, keng-thâu khoan-khoah, bô nn̄g-ki chin-chiàⁿ ê kha! Che sī gōa kî-koài ê seng-bu̍t ah, ū bó͘-chióng chiáu-á ê lāi koh léng ê kian-tēng ì-chì, bô un-loán, oân-choân bô un-loán! He sī chi̍t chióng bī-lâi ê seng-bu̍t, bô lêng-hûn, kan-ta ū ke̍k kéng-chhéⁿ koh léng-khok ê ì-chì. Yi sió-hóa khí-chùn, kiaⁿ i. M̄-koh, hit ê sèⁿ-miā ê un-jiû, sio-ho ê hóe-iam pí i khah kiông, chin-si̍t ê sū-hāng tùi i tō am-khàm ē hó-sè.

Si tha̍k oân ah. Yi tio̍h chi̍t kiaⁿ. Yi taⁿ-thâu khòaⁿ, koh-khah kiaⁿ chi̍t-tiô, khòaⁿ tio̍h Clifford iōng phú-sek, koài-kî ê ba̍k-chiu khòaⁿ yi, ná ū-hīn.

"Chin to-siā lí! Lí kā Racine tha̍k kah chiâⁿ súi!" yi jiû-jiû kóng.

"Chha-put-to kap lí teh thiaⁿ pêⁿ súi," i kóng kah chin khok. "Lí teh chò siáⁿ?" i mn̄g.

"Góa teh chò gín-á saⁿ, hō͘ Flint Tt ê gín-á."

I thâu oa̍t-khui. Gín-á! Gín-á! Yi kan-ta chi̍t-sim teh siūⁿ he.

"Chóng-kóng," i iōng khoa-tōa ê kháu-khì kóng, "lán su-iàu ê lóng ē-tàng ùi Racine ê si tit-tio̍h. Ū-lí-lō͘ koh ū-hêng-chông ê sim-chêng pí hūn-loān ê sim-chêng koh-khah tiōng-iàu."

Yi nn̄g lúi bâ-bū ê tōa ba̍k-chiu khòaⁿ i.

"Sī lah, góa mā tông-ì," yi kóng.

"Hiān-tāi ê sè-kài sim-chêng loān pàng, piàn kah chin sông. Lán su-iàu ê sī kó͘-tián ê iok-sok."

"Sī lah," yi bān-bān kóng, ná teh siūⁿ tio̍h i bīn tai-tai teh thiaⁿ rajíoh kóng kám-sèng ê gōng-ōe. "Lâng ké-kúi ū kám-chêng, sū-si̍t-siōng siáⁿ to bô kám-kak. Góa siūⁿ he tō-sī lōng-bān."

"Chèng-khah!" i kóng.

Sū-si̍t-siōng, i chin thiám ah. Chit àm hō͘ i chin thiám. I lêng-khó tha̍k ki-su̍t ê chheh, a̍h-sī hām khòng-tiûⁿ keng-lí kau-tâm, a̍h-sī thiaⁿ rajíoh.

Bolton Tt phâng 2 poe be̍h-gê gû-leng ji̍p-lâi: hō͘ Clifford lim liáu hó khùn, mā hō͘ Connie lim liáu thang khah tōa-kho͘. Che sī yi só͘ kài-siāu ê pêng-siông àm-sî tiám-sim.

Connie kā gû-leng lim liáu, chiâⁿ hoaⁿ-hí ē-tit cháu ah, kám-sim yi m̄-bián ho̍k-sāi Clifford chiūⁿ-chhn̂g. Yi kā poe-á khǹg tī phâng-pôaⁿ nih, koh kā phâng-pôaⁿ phâng khì khǹg tī gōa-kháu.

"Àm-an Clifford! Hó-hó khùn! Racine ê si tō hō͘ lâng ná-chhiūⁿ teh bîn-bāng. Àm-an!"

Yi liu kàu mn̂g-kháu, bô kā i chim àm tō lī-khui. I iōng kim kho̍k-kho̍k, léng peng-peng ê ba̍k-chiu khòaⁿ yi. Hó! Yi bô kā i chim àm, i kui-mê thè yi tha̍k si. Yi chiah-nī bô-chêng bô-gī! Tō kóng hit ê chim put-kò sī chi̍t ê hêng-sek, lán lâng ê sèⁿ-miā só͘ óa-khò ê tō sī chit-chióng hêng-sek. Yi sī chi̍t ê Bolshevik chù-gī-chiá, chin ê. Yi ê pún-sèng tō sī Bolshevik! I léng peng-peng koh khì phut-phut khòaⁿ yi liu chhut-khì ê hit ê mn̂g. Chiâⁿ khì!

Àm-mê ê khióng-pò͘ koh-chài lia̍h tio̍h i. I sī chi̍t ê sîn-keng ê bāng-lō͘, nā bô choân-sim teh kang-chok, koh cheng-sîn pá-móa: a̍h-sī bô teh thiaⁿ rajíoh, koh oân-choân sit-sîn: i tō ē hō͘ cho-sim tîⁿ-tio̍h, kám-kak tāi-lān lîm-thâu ê khang-hi. I kiaⁿ-hiâⁿ. Connie ū hoat-tō͘ hō͘ i bē kiaⁿ-hiâⁿ, chì-iàu yi goān-ì. M̄-koh chin bêng-hián, yi bô goān-ì, yi bô goān-ì. Yi chin bô-chêng, it-chhè i ūi yi só͘ chò ê, yi lóng léng-khok koh bô-chêng kā tùi-thāi. I hòng-khì ka-tī ê sèⁿ-miā hō͘ yi, yi khiok tùi i bô-chêng. Yi kan-ta chiàu yi ka-tī ê ì-sù. "Shiok-lú ài ka-tī ê ì-chì."

Chit-má yi só͘ chùi-sim ê sī gín-á. Yi ài chit ê gín-á sī yi ê, oân-choân yi ka-tī ê, m̄-sī i ê!

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10.10 她沉醉 tī 家己 ê 溫柔思想

這兩个查某 ê 目光相拄: Bolton Tt ê 殕 koh 金, koh 硞硞看; Connie ê 藍 koh 霧, 特別美麗. Bolton Tt 差不多確定, 她有契兄, m̄-koh 按怎交, 彼是 siáng? Tah 討有查埔人?

"Oh, 你若不時出去行行, 揣伴 leh, 彼對你真好," Bolton Tt 講. "我才 kā Clifford Sià 講, 夫人若較捷 kap 人出去, 對她真好."

"是 ah, 我 mā 真歡喜我有出去, Clifford, 彼个囡仔古錐 koh 毋驚生份," Connie 講. "伊 ê 頭毛 ná 蜘蛛絲, 金金黃黃, 目睭金 liù-liù, 殕藍色, ná 瓷仔. 當然彼是查某, 若無 tō 袂 hiah 好膽, 好膽 kah ná 小小 Francis Drake Sià [探險英雄]."

"夫人講了著 -- 彼是正常 ê 小 Flint. In 彼家族一直攏大膽 koh 紅頭毛," Bolton Tt 講.

"你敢無愛看伊, Clifford? 我有請 in 來啉茶, án-ne 你通看伊."

"Siáng?" 伊問, ná 看 Connie, 感覺不安.

"Flint Tt kap 姻囡仔, 後禮拜一."

"你會使請姻去你 ê 房間啉茶," 伊講.

"Án-ná, 你無愛看囡仔?" 她喝聲.

"Oh, 我會看伊, m̄-koh 我無欲全程陪姻啉茶."

"Oh," Connie 叫, 麻霧 ê 目睭展大看伊.

她並無真正看伊, 伊 ná 像是別人.

"夫人, 你會使 tī 你 ê 房間四四序序啉茶, án-ne Flint Tt 會比 Clifford Sià 在場 koh 較自在," Bolton Tt 講.

她確定 Connie 有契兄, 她 ê 靈魂有物件 teh giang. M̄-koh 彼是 siáng? 凡勢 Flint Tt ē-tàng 提供線索.

這暗, Connie 毋洗身軀. 她感覺伊沐過她 ê 身軀, 伊彼黏黏 ê 肉硩 tī 她頂面, 這真寶貴, 是一種神聖.

Clifford 真不安. 食暗了猶毋放她走, m̄-koh 她真想欲單獨一人. 她金金 kā 看, m̄-koh 出奇 ê 順服.

"咱來奕牌仔, 抑是我替你讀冊, 抑是你想欲創啥?" 伊不安 kā 問.

"你為我讀冊," Connie 講.

"我著讀啥 -- 詩抑散文? 抑戲劇?"

"讀 Racine ê 詩," 她講.

以前, 用真正 Franse 高尚 ê 方式讀 Racine ê 時, 一直攏是伊興 ê 齣頭, m̄-koh 今伊生鉎 ah, 家己 mā 有覺悟; 其實伊寧可聽 rajíoh. M̄-koh Connie teh 紩衫, 用她舊衫 ê 布 teh 紩一領黃色絲仔 ê 囡仔衫, 欲予 Flint Tt ê 囡仔. 轉厝到食暗中間她裁剪好勢, 今她坐 leh, 沉醉 tī 溫柔恬靜 ê 針線 nih, 同時讀詩 ê 聲 iⁿ-iⁿ ōⁿ-ōⁿ 繼續著.

Tī 她心 nih, 她感覺著熱情 ê hiⁿ 聲, ná 鐘聲響了 ê hiⁿ 聲.

Clifford kā 她講一寡 Racine ê 代誌. 話講了, 她才知伊講 ê 意思.

"是! 是!" 她講, ná 看伊. "彼誠讚."

伊驚看著她彼深藍有光 ê 目睭, mā 驚看著她柔柔恬恬坐 tī 遐. 她 m̄-bat hiah-nī 全然 ê 溫柔 koh 恬靜. 她使伊忍不住著迷, ká-ná 她有啥芳味予伊迷醉. 所以, 伊只好繼續讀, 彼 Franse ê 喉音予她聽著 tō ná 像煙筒 nih ê 風聲. Racine ê 詩, 她一句 mā 無聽著.

她沉醉 tī 家己 ê 溫柔思想, ná 像樹林 tī 春天發芽 ê 時, 彼微微, 歡喜 si-si sū-sū ê 聲. 她感覺會著, 她 kap 彼人 tī 相仝 ê 世界, 彼个無名 ê 人, 媠媠 ê 雙跤 teh 行, 媠 tī 彼支 ê 神秘. Iah 她 ê 每一條血脈攏感覺著伊 kap 伊 ê 囡仔. 伊 ê 囡仔充滿她 ê 血脈, ná 像殕光.

"她 [愛 ê 女神] 無手, 無目睭, 無跤, mā 無金色頭毛..."

Connie tō ná 樹林, ná 像暗暗交 chhap ê 橡樹, hiⁿ 出千萬新芽 teh 發, 聽袂著 ê 聲. 彼時, 慾望 ê 鳥 tī 她交 chhap 幼致 ê 身軀 teh 睏.

M̄-koh Clifford ê 聲無停, 有時響, 有時悶, 發出各種聲. 有夠奇怪! 伊人 mā 奇怪, àⁿ 身向冊, 怪奇 koh 貪心 koh 斯文, 肩頭寬闊, 無兩支真正 ê 跤! 這是偌奇怪 ê 生物 ah, 有某種鳥仔 ê 利 koh 冷 ê 堅定意志, 無溫暖, 完全無溫暖! 彼是一種未來 ê 生物, 無靈魂, 干焦有極警醒 koh 冷酷 ê 意志. 她小可起顫, 驚伊. M̄-koh, 彼个性命 ê 溫柔, 燒熇 ê 火焰比伊較強, 真實 ê 事項 tùi 伊 tō 掩崁會好勢.

詩讀完 ah. 她著一驚. 她 taⁿ 頭看, koh 較驚一趒, 看著 Clifford 用殕色, 怪奇 ê 目睭看她, ná 有恨.

"真多謝你! 你 kā Racine 讀 kah 誠媠!" 她柔柔講.

"差不多 kap 你 teh 聽平媠," 伊講 kah 真酷. "你 teh 做啥?" 伊問.

"我 teh 做囡仔衫, 欲予 Flint Tt ê 囡仔."

伊頭越開. 囡仔! 囡仔! 她干焦一心 teh 想彼.

"總講," 伊用誇大 ê 口氣講, "咱需要 ê 攏 ē-tàng ùi Racine ê 詩等著.有理路 koh 有形狀 ê 心情比混亂 ê 心情 koh 較重要."

她兩蕊麻霧 ê 大目睭看伊.

"是 lah, 我 mā 同意," 她講.

"現代 ê 世界心情亂放, 變 kah 真 sông. 咱需要 ê 是古典 ê 約束."

"是 lah," 她慢慢講, ná teh 想著伊面呆呆 teh 聽 rajíoh 講感性 ê 戇話. "人假鬼有感情, 事實上啥都無感覺. 我想彼 tō 是浪漫."

"正確!" 伊講.

事實上, 伊真忝 ah. 這暗予伊真忝. 伊寧可讀技術 ê 冊, 抑是和礦場經理交談, 抑是聽 rajíoh.

Bolton Tt 捀 2 杯麥芽牛奶入來: 予 Clifford 啉了好睏, mā 予 Connie 啉了通較大箍.這是她所介紹 ê 平常暗時點心.

Connie kā 牛奶啉了, 誠歡喜會得走 ah, 感心她毋免服侍 Clifford 上床. 她 kā 杯仔囥 tī 捀盤 nih, koh kā 捀盤捀去囥 tī 外口.

"暗安 Clifford! 好好睏! Racine ê 詩 tō 予人 ná 像 teh 眠夢. 暗安!"

她溜到門口, 無 kā 伊唚暗 tō 離開. 伊用金硞硞, 冷冰冰 ê 目睭看她. 好! 她無 kā 伊唚暗, 伊規暝替她讀詩. 她 chiah-nī 無情無義! Tō 講彼个唚不過是一个形式, 咱人 ê 性命所倚靠 ê tō 是這種形式. 她是一个 Bolshevik 主義者, 真 ê. 她 ê 本性 tō 是 Bolshevik! 伊冷冰冰 koh 氣 phut-phut 看她溜出去 ê 彼个門. 誠氣!

暗暝 ê 恐怖 koh 再掠著伊. 伊是一个神經 ê 網路, 若無全心 teh 工作, koh 精神飽滿: 抑是無 teh 聽 rajíoh, koh 完全失神: 伊 tō 會予慒心纏著, 感覺大難臨頭 ê 空虛. 伊驚惶. Connie 有法度予伊袂驚惶, 只要她願意. M̄-koh 真明顯, 她無願意, 她無願意. 她真無情, 一切伊為她所做 ê, 她攏冷酷 koh 無情 kā 對待. 伊放棄家己 ê 性命予她, 她卻對伊無情. 她干焦照她家己 ê 意思. "淑女愛家己 ê 意志."

這馬她所醉心 ê 是囡仔. 她愛這个囡仔是她 ê, 完全她家己 ê, 毋是伊 ê!

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10.10

The eyes of the two women met: Mrs Bolton’s grey and bright and searching; Connie’s blue and veiled and strangely beautiful. Mrs Bolton was almost sure she had a lover, yet how could it be, and who could it be? Where was there a man?

’Oh, it’s so good for you, if you go out and see a bit of company sometimes,’ said Mrs Bolton. ‘I was saying to Sir Clifford, it would do her ladyship a world of good if she’d go out among people more.’

’Yes, I’m glad I went, and such a quaint dear cheeky baby, Clifford,’ said Connie. ‘It’s got hair just like spider-webs, and bright orange, and the oddest, cheekiest, pale-blue china eyes. Of course it’s a girl, or it wouldn’t be so bold, bolder than any little Sir Francis Drake.’

’You’re right, my Lady—a regular little Flint. They were always a forward sandy-headed family,’ said Mrs Bolton.

’Wouldn’t you like to see it, Clifford? I’ve asked them to tea for you to see it.’

’Who?’ he asked, looking at Connie in great uneasiness.

‘Mrs Flint and the baby, next Monday.’

’You can have them to tea up in your room,’ he said.

’Why, don’t you want to see the baby?’ she cried.


’Oh, I’ll see it, but I don’t want to sit through a tea-time with them.’


’Oh,’ cried Connie, looking at him with wide veiled eyes.

She did not really see him, he was somebody else.


’You can have a nice cosy tea up in your room, my Lady, and Mrs Flint will be more comfortable than if Sir Clifford was there,’ said Mrs Bolton.


She was sure Connie had a lover, and something in her soul exulted. But who was he? Who was he? Perhaps Mrs Flint would provide a clue.

Connie would not take her bath this evening. The sense of his flesh touching her, his very stickiness upon her, was dear to her, and in a sense holy.

Clifford was very uneasy. He would not let her go after dinner, and she had wanted so much to be alone. She looked at him, but was curiously submissive.

’Shall we play a game, or shall I read to you, or what shall it be?’ he asked uneasily.

’You read to me,’ said Connie.


’What shall I read—verse or prose? Or drama?’

’Read Racine,’ she said.

It had been one of his stunts in the past, to read Racine in the real French grand manner, but he was rusty now, and a little self-conscious; he really preferred the loudspeaker. But Connie was sewing, sewing a little frock silk of primrose silk, cut out of one of her dresses, for Mrs Flint’s baby. Between coming home and dinner she had cut it out, and she sat in the soft quiescent rapture of herself sewing, while the noise of the reading went on.

Inside herself she could feel the humming of passion, like the after-humming of deep bells.

Clifford said something to her about the Racine. She caught the sense after the words had gone.

’Yes! Yes!’ she said, looking up at him. ‘It is splendid.’

Again he was frightened at the deep blue blaze of her eyes, and of her soft stillness, sitting there. She had never been so utterly soft and still. She fascinated him helplessly, as if some perfume about her intoxicated him. So he went on helplessly with his reading, and the throaty sound of the French was like the wind in the chimneys to her. Of the Racine she heard not one syllable.

She was gone in her own soft rapture, like a forest soughing with the dim, glad moan of spring, moving into bud. She could feel in the same world with her the man, the nameless man, moving on beautiful feet, beautiful in the phallic mystery. And in herself in all her veins, she felt him and his child. His child was in all her veins, like a twilight.

’For hands she hath none, nor eyes, nor feet, nor golden Treasure of hair...’

She was like a forest, like the dark interlacing of the oakwood, humming inaudibly with myriad unfolding buds. Meanwhile the birds of desire were asleep in the vast interlaced intricacy of her body.

But Clifford’s voice went on, clapping and gurgling with unusual sounds. How extraordinary it was! How extraordinary he was, bent there over the book, queer and rapacious and civilized, with broad shoulders and no real legs! What a strange creature, with the sharp, cold inflexible will of some bird, and no warmth, no warmth at all! One of those creatures of the afterwards, that have no soul, but an extra-alert will, cold will. She shuddered a little, afraid of him. But then, the soft warm flame of life was stronger than he, and the real things were hidden from him.

The reading finished. She was startled. She looked up, and was more startled still to see Clifford watching her with pale, uncanny eyes, like hate.

’Thank you SO much! You do read Racine beautifully!’ she said softly.

’Almost as beautifully as you listen to him,’ he said cruelly. ‘What are you making?’ he asked.

’I’m making a child’s dress, for Mrs Flint’s baby.’


He turned away. A child! A child! That was all her obsession.


’After all,’ he said in a declamatory voice, ‘one gets all one wants out of Racine. Emotions that are ordered and given shape are more important than disorderly emotions.'

She watched him with wide, vague, veiled eyes.

‘Yes, I’m sure they are,’ she said.

’The modern world has only vulgarized emotion by letting it loose. What we need is classic control.’

’Yes,’ she said slowly, thinking of him listening with vacant face to the emotional idiocy of the radio. ‘People pretend to have emotions, and they really feel nothing. I suppose that is being romantic.’

’Exactly!’ he said.

As a matter of fact, he was tired. This evening had tired him. He would rather have been with his technical books, or his pit-manager, or listening-in to the radio.

Mrs Bolton came in with two glasses of malted milk: for Clifford, to make him sleep, and for Connie, to fatten her again. It was a regular night-cap she had introduced.

Connie was glad to go, when she had drunk her glass, and thankful she needn’t help Clifford to bed. She took his glass and put it on the tray, then took the tray, to leave it outside.

’Goodnight Clifford! DO sleep well! The Racine gets into one like a dream. Goodnight!’

She had drifted to the door. She was going without kissing him goodnight. He watched her with sharp, cold eyes. So! She did not even kiss him goodnight, after he had spent an evening reading to her. Such depths of callousness in her! Even if the kiss was but a formality, it was on such formalities that life depends. She was a Bolshevik, really. Her instincts were Bolshevistic! He gazed coldly and angrily at the door whence she had gone. Anger!

And again the dread of the night came on him. He was a network of nerves, and when he was not braced up to work, and so full of energy: or when he was not listening-in, and so utterly neuter: then he was haunted by anxiety and a sense of dangerous impending void. He was afraid. And Connie could keep the fear off him, if she would. But it was obvious she wouldn’t, she wouldn’t. She was callous, cold and callous to all that he did for her. He gave up his life for her, and she was callous to him. She only wanted her own way. ‘The lady loves her will.’

Now it was a baby she was obsessed by. Just so that it should be her own, all her own, and not his!

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