pavement.
Once there, I held on to a railing for support. As soon as I had done so, I found that I did not dare take my hand away. Everything tipped and lurched around me. People walked past. One or two of them glanced in my direction without appearing to notice anything unusual. Several minutes went by and still this tipping sensation continued. I began to wonder what I was going to do. I could not help thinking that I was being punished somehow, principally for my lack of faith. This was what happened to people who did not believe, or who did not believe enough. They were cast out, abandoned, left struggling to fend for themselves.
Despite the sunshine, the railing was very cold to the touch. So cold that I seemed to be losing all feeling in my fingers. Reaching behind me, I transferred my grip from one hand to the other. At that moment, a taxi cab turned off the Earls Court Road and drove into the square. The leap of hope that this brought with it was immediately dashed when I saw that its “For Hire” sign was not illuminated.
Then, as the taxi continued to come closer, I noticed that nobody was sitting in the back.
I held up my spare hand and waited. The taxi drove round the remaining two sides of the square and drew up beside the curb. I remained where I was, unsure how I was ever going to cross the expanse of pavement that lay between us. It was like having to ford a stream.
The cabbie sat waiting behind the steering wheel, staring straight ahead, his motor idling. Still, I could not bring myself to let go. The cabbie turned to look at me, his brow knotting into a question mark. As he did so, I launched myself, quite certain that I would fall — yet finding my legs scurrying about beneath me, carrying me forward.
Once inside the taxi, I asked to be taken to Liverpool Street. The journey seemed to pass in a long horizontal blur. By the time we had arrived, however, everything seemed to have righted itself: the buildings, the lamp-posts, even the people. Even so, I found that I had no desire to be in any closer proximity to anyone than necessary. I therefore bought a first-class ticket and shut myself away in an empty compartment, hoping that nobody else would come in. Mercifully, no one did.
The train steamed through deep brick gulches and out towards the suburbs. When the houses at last disappeared, an enormous sense of relief came over me as all around the fields flattened and stretched away.
Ellen was unusually quiet that evening. She scarcely spoke as she helped me out of my traveling clothes and into my dinner dress. I was touched by her tact, by the way she moved around me in this understanding silence.
It was only while she was fastening the buttons on my sleeves that I noticed her fingers were trembling.
“What is it, my dear?”
She did not answer; she simply continued fastening my buttons.
“There we are,” she said, pulling my cuffs straight once she had finished. While her voice sounded steady enough, there was some uncertainty about her lower lip.
“Has something upset you?” I asked. Still she did not answer. “If there is anything you wish to tell me, I can promise that nothing will go any further than this room.”
At this, she pulled back abruptly. “There’s nothing the matter with me, ma’am,” she said. “Nothing at all … Although it’s very kind of you to ask.”
I stood and waited by the mirror while Ellen fetched the clothes brush. She wielded the brush with her customary dexterity, only just letting the bristles touch the material. While she was doing so, I realized it had been several days since she had asked if I would like my hair combed before dinner. Perhaps this too was a form of tact.
The following afternoon it started to rain again. When I went out to the mounds after tea, I found Mr. Brown by himself in the shepherd’s hut. Immediately, he offered to come outside, but I told him that I was quite happy to join him. He helped me up the steps, shook out my
Once there, I held on to a railing for support. As soon as I had done so, I found that I did not dare take my hand away. Everything tipped and lurched around me. People walked past. One or two of them glanced in my direction without appearing to notice anything unusual. Several minutes went by and still this tipping sensation continued. I began to wonder what I was going to do. I could not help thinking that I was being punished somehow, principally for my lack of faith. This was what happened to people who did not believe, or who did not believe enough. They were cast out, abandoned, left struggling to fend for themselves.
Despite the sunshine, the railing was very cold to the touch. So cold that I seemed to be losing all feeling in my fingers. Reaching behind me, I transferred my grip from one hand to the other. At that moment, a taxi cab turned off the Earls Court Road and drove into the square. The leap of hope that this brought with it was immediately dashed when I saw that its “For Hire” sign was not illuminated.
Then, as the taxi continued to come closer, I noticed that nobody was sitting in the back.
I held up my spare hand and waited. The taxi drove round the remaining two sides of the square and drew up beside the curb. I remained where I was, unsure how I was ever going to cross the expanse of pavement that lay between us. It was like having to ford a stream.
The cabbie sat waiting behind the steering wheel, staring straight ahead, his motor idling. Still, I could not bring myself to let go. The cabbie turned to look at me, his brow knotting into a question mark. As he did so, I launched myself, quite certain that I would fall — yet finding my legs scurrying about beneath me, carrying me forward.
Once inside the taxi, I asked to be taken to Liverpool Street. The journey seemed to pass in a long horizontal blur. By the time we had arrived, however, everything seemed to have righted itself: the buildings, the lamp-posts, even the people. Even so, I found that I had no desire to be in any closer proximity to anyone than necessary. I therefore bought a first-class ticket and shut myself away in an empty compartment, hoping that nobody else would come in. Mercifully, no one did.
The train steamed through deep brick gulches and out towards the suburbs. When the houses at last disappeared, an enormous sense of relief came over me as all around the fields flattened and stretched away.
Ellen was unusually quiet that evening. She scarcely spoke as she helped me out of my traveling clothes and into my dinner dress. I was touched by her tact, by the way she moved around me in this understanding silence.
It was only while she was fastening the buttons on my sleeves that I noticed her fingers were trembling.
“What is it, my dear?”
She did not answer; she simply continued fastening my buttons.
“There we are,” she said, pulling my cuffs straight once she had finished. While her voice sounded steady enough, there was some uncertainty about her lower lip.
“Has something upset you?” I asked. Still she did not answer. “If there is anything you wish to tell me, I can promise that nothing will go any further than this room.”
At this, she pulled back abruptly. “There’s nothing the matter with me, ma’am,” she said. “Nothing at all … Although it’s very kind of you to ask.”
I stood and waited by the mirror while Ellen fetched the clothes brush. She wielded the brush with her customary dexterity, only just letting the bristles touch the material. While she was doing so, I realized it had been several days since she had asked if I would like my hair combed before dinner. Perhaps this too was a form of tact.
The following afternoon it started to rain again. When I went out to the mounds after tea, I found Mr. Brown by himself in the shepherd’s hut. Immediately, he offered to come outside, but I told him that I was quite happy to join him. He helped me up the steps, shook out my
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