Table: Chapter 6: Interim |
section A |
1ST P. # | 1ST ED. TEXT | The Little Review TEXT | L.R. P. # |
Volume 6, No. 2 (June 1919) | 3-25 | ||
1 | INTERIM / CHAPTER I | INTERIM / by Dorothy Richardson / Chapter One | 3 |
1.1 | thumped her gladstone bag down | thumped down her gladstone bag | 3.1 |
1.4 | Florrie | Florrie Broom | 3.3 |
1.7-8 | dining-|room | dining room | 3.5-6 |
1.8 | cadenza | fantasia | 3.6 |
1.12 | Grace's soothing | Grace's eager | 3.9 |
2.4 | feel tired | feel that | 3.15 |
2.11 | course it is, | course, | 3.20 |
3.1 | Miriam? | Miriam, | 4.3 |
3.9 | to-morrow | tomorrow | 4.9 |
3.20 | smoothing | cleansing | 4.17 |
5.14 | frowning anxiously | anxiously frowning | 5.9 |
5.17 | many things | heavy things | 5.11 |
6.19 | hailpemee--Oh | hailpemee--Miriam warmed to the beginnings of laughter and raised her voice--Oh | 5.28-30 |
6.21-22 | them all silently | them silent and | 5.31-32 |
7.23 | must both have | must have | 6.11-12 |
10.8 | short. The | short. They all seemed to be. The | 7.17 |
12.13 | holiday | hoiday* | 8.17 |
12.19 | She watched | she contemplated | 8.21 |
13.7 | offended stiffness | wooden blankness | 8.32 |
14.14 | cardboard stage, hearing the | paper proscenium, the | 9.14 |
14.15 | roller | rollers | 9.15 |
14.15-16 | the printed scenes | the scenes | 9.15 |
14.16-17 | forwards, and plunged | forwards. She plunged | 9.16 |
15.15 | hair, put on | hair, indicated | 9.34-35 |
15.16 | brown colour | brown paint | 9.35 |
17.7 | pouring from | pouring in from | 10.25 |
18.5 | rushed up and | rushed up, up and | 11.1 |
18.6-8 | foremost, listening, following the claim of the music into the secret happy interior of the life of each sleeping form, flowing swiftly on | foremost. Her love flowed into every turn of the well-known house and hovered near each sleeping form, flowed into the recesses of their lives, flowed on swiftly | 11.2-4 |
21.2-3 | mustard-pot | mustard-pots | 12.16 |
22.25 | Miriam? | Miriam, | 13.10 |
26.13 | tangle of statements | tangle of images | 14.36 |
26.16 | painful | pained | 14.39 |
29.17 | brethren | brethern | 16.15 |
32.19 | Sadness came growing | Sadness grew for her | 17.33 |
32.19-20 | thoughts went | thoughts washed | 17.33 |
32.26 | and out | and cut* | 17.38 |
33.1 | side, shy and eager | side in shy delight | 17.39 |
33.4 | the expressionless brown | the brown expressionless | 17.41 |
33.5 | Hullo Madam O'Hara | Hullo O'Hara | 17.42 |
33.6 | for the question | for the challenge | 17.42 |
34.11 | velvet | velvety | 18.23 |
34.15 | Miriam, she's failed. | Miriam, faintly angered. | 18.27 |
34.18 | argued Miriam | said Miriam | 18.29 |
34.20-21 | hidden polite determined | sudden evasive determined | 18.30 |
35.22-23 | and the little | and little | 19.9 |
36.4-9 | bookcase, scenes from the future, moving in boundless backgrounds came streaming unsummoned into her mind, making her surroundings suddenly unfamiliar . . . . . the past would come again. . . . Inside | bookcase, the years tumbled about her. Crowding incidents set in vast backgrounds streamed in through her consciousness blotting out the day, washing away from future and past all but joy. Inside | 19.13-16 |
36.12-13 | movement | movements | 19.19 |
36.17 | found the nearer past, | found all the past | 19.23 |
36.18 | of London work | of work | 19.23 |
44.2 | about the hats | about them | 22.40 |
44.22 | amœbæ | amoeboe* | 23.14 |
46.8 | no meaning | no meeting* | 23.42 |
47.14 | visible past | outstretched past | 24.23 |
48.18-19 | sparkling, shedding admiration and tyrannous love | sparkling, strahlend mit Liebe und Bewunderung | 25.4 |
49.8 | briskness and | briskness and stretching, and | 25.16 |
49.14 | light it | light in* | 25.20 |
49.15-18 | fire. After supper they would all sit, harshly visible, round the hot fire, enduring the stifling unneeded gaslight. | fire. | 25.21 |
Volume 6, No. 3 (July 1919) | 11-24 | ||
50 | CHAPTER II | Chapter Two | 11 |
50.4 | She | For good or ill she | 11.3 |
50.7 | was right or wrong? | was good or bad? | 11.5 |
50.18 | In | She felt in | 11.13 |
50.18 | nostrils was the | nostrils the | 11.13 |
51.4 | by changes | by the changes | 11.17 |
51.10 | about that | about her | 11.22 |
51.20 | stop, while reality went on far | stop while you looked at it with time and things rushing along far | 11.29 |
52.1 | in solitude it had come to an end | it had come to an end in solitude | 11.34 |
52.3 | just quiet | quiet | 11.36 |
52.3-4 | One would pass on into the new year in an unbroken peace with the | The | 12.1 |
52.5 | life distinct | life were still distinct | 12.1-2 |
52.12-13 | from an inward | from inward | 12.7 |
52.20 | came. | came--in song and spring sunlight | 12.12-13 |
53.2 | alive, without | alive and enlivening, without | 12.18 |
53.6-7 | They shut off the inside world. | They belonged to all the fuss and flurry of the world. | 12.22 |
53.8 | were in | were astray in | 12.24 |
53.20 | the silence | her silence | 12.33 |
53.20-21 | no past | no picture of past | 12.33 |
54.15 | in experience | in one's experience | 13.6 |
54.22 | corner glowed | corner of the room glowed | 13.11 |
54.25 | agreement. . . . . | agreement, a remark thrown over the shoulder before a departure that would in time loop back into a return . . . . . | 13.13-15 |
55.12-14 | of the night the surface of a daylit landscape gleamed for an instant tilted lengthways across the sky | of the darkness she saw the spread of a landscape. Full daylight and early morning freshness gleamed together over it | 13.24-25 |
56.[10-11] | II | 2 | 14.[0-1] |
57.3 | go to to get | go to get | 14.12 |
57.7 | numb clumsiness | clumsy numbness | 14.15 |
57.24 | little streets | little side streets | 14.28 |
58.26 | He was one of | He must be of | 15.7 |
59.1 | Reynolds' | Reynold's* | 15.8 |
59.14 | sounds in the | sounds of their occupation of the | 15.18 |
61.4-5 | nervo-bilious | nervo-biilous* | 16.6 |
62.15 | It they* | If they | 16.32 |
63.11 | as from | as if from | 17.7 |
64.17 | on, bitter | on a bitter | 17.30 |
66.25 | worn. | worn and the glance of the eyes was the glittering glance of a serpent. | 18.31-32 |
67.5 | A.B.C. He'll | A.B.C. in the Tottenham Court Road. He'll | 18.35-36 |
67.[6-7] | III | 3 | 18.[37-38] |
68.5 | round | around | 19.13 |
68.23-24 | drawn-|room | dron-room | 19.27 |
69.9 | and a phrase | and phrase | 19.35 |
70.5 | English she | English; and she | 20.9 |
72.7 | valence hanging from | valence running along | 21.7 |
72.16 | grasses standing | grasses and standing | 21.13-14 |
72.17 | overmantel, and back | overmantel, back | 21.14-15 |
73.11 | margin | margind* | 21.29 |
73.13 | leather-topped | leather | 21.30 |
73.15 | tinkling and flourishing | twinkling, flourishing* | 21.32 |
73.19 | chiefly the | chiefly of the | 21.34-35 |
75.13 | the sight of moonlit | their familiar reverie of moonlit | 22.26 |
75.20 | clear, in a shape, passing | clear, passing | 22.31 |
76.24 | because I played | because played | 23.11 |
78.19 | It gave | It came* | 24.3 |
78.19-20 | and fulness | and dignity | 24.3 |
78.26 | against | gainst* | 24.8 |
Volume 6, No.4 (August 1919) | 5-28 | ||
80 | CHAPTER III | Chapter Three | 5 |
80.1-81.15 | See Note 1 | See Note 2 | 5.1-7 |
NOTE 1 Miriam let herself cautiously in. The whole house was hers; she was a boarder; but the right to linger freely in any part of it was bought by Sissie's French lessons and being Sissie's teacher meant that the Baileys could approach familiarly at any moment . . . . . . all her privileges were bought with a heavy price, here and at Wimpole Street . . . . . its us; our family; always masquerading. But the lessons made opportunities of being affable to the Baileys; removing the need for seeking them out purposely from time to time. Cut and dried. I've patriotic ballads cut and dried. I'm cut and dried, everybody thinks. Moving and speaking stiffly, the stamp of my family, the minute anything is expected of me. Nobody knows me. I grow more and more unknown and more and more like what people think of me. . . . But I know; and things go on coming; scraps of other people's things. No one in the world could imagine what it is to me to have this house; the fag-end of the Bailey's stock-in-trade. God couldn't know, completely. There's something wrong about it; but damn, I can't help it. In my secret self I should love a prison. Walls. What are walls? If she scuffed her muddy shoes too cheerfully someone would appear at the dining-room door. Beyond the gaslight pouring down on to the smeary marble of the hall table and glimmering against the threatening dining-room door the dim staircase beckoned her up into darkness. A few steps and she would be going upstairs. Where? What for? Hgh--HEE! at the far end of the passage beyond the hall. . . . . |
NOTE 2 Coming in at nine o'clock on the day Sissie had had her first French lesson Miriam was quietly scuffing her muddy shoes on the mat in the gloom of the doorway with her eyes on the opposite gloom where beyond the glimmering gaslight about the hall-table and the threatening dining-room door the dim staircase beckoned up into darkness, when she was roused by the sound of a laugh coming from the far end of the passage. |
83.4 | stool crowded in between | stool between | 6.10 |
83.15 | air was thick | air about the fireplace was dense | 6.18 |
83.16 | in answer | in response | 6.19 |
84.10 | brushing at her | brushing her | 6.33 |
84.20 | café. | café. I play in their theatre. | 6.41-42 |
84.21 | Mts. You | You | 7.1 |
84.23-24 | dieu! He swayed drumming from foot to foot in time to his shouts. Had | dieu! he squealed musically, swaying from side to side, his thrust-out face pointed . . . like Mephistopheles. He was like Mephistopheles. Had | 7.2-4 |
85.3 | refined. | refined. ¶--Adventures I can tell you for a week- ¶Mts, sighed Mrs. Bailey. | 7.9-10 |
85.[3-4] | II | [3-line break] | 7.[10-11] |
85.9 | girl away | child away | 7.15 |
86.17-20 | her theft from the wealth they had provided, her gratitude to him for the store of memories she had gathered. It ] | her gathering, in the garden they themselves had provided, clusters of vivid things for memory. They had seen her eagerness and her hunger and gratitude. It | 7.38-8.1 |
86.21 | to humiliate | to humble | 8.2 |
87.1 | with an air of | with conscious | 8.6 |
87.3 | it, only to | it; to | 8.8 |
87.9 | small dull | small sombre | 8.12 |
87.12 | whatever it said | whatever its burden | 8.15 |
87.19 | was something | was like something | 8.19 |
87.[21-22] | III | 3 | 8.[21-22] |
88.9-13 | They crossed the landing next below hers and ceased. When she rounded the stairs light blazed from a wide-open door and a little melody sounded for an instant in a smooth swaying falsetto. | On the landing next below hers light blazed from a wide-|open door. When she rounded the stairs a little melody sounded for an instant in a smooth swaying falsetto at the open door. | 8.30-32 |
88.[19-20] | IV | 4 | 9.[0-1] |
89.3 | empty air | dreaming air | 9.6 |
89.12 | to be kept | to kept* | 9.12-13 |
90.1 | Let the words | Let them | 9.23 |
90.5-6 | all sound and no enunciation | all emptiness and no pronunciation | 9.26-27 |
90.25 | stated Sissie | said Sissie | 9.40 |
91.9 | Cosmopolis | Cosmopolic | 10.7 |
91.10 | cosmopolis | cosmopolic | 10.9 |
91.24 | the hurrying | the huddled hurrying | 10.18-19 |
92.4-5 | the world might | the might* | 10.23-24 |
92.19 | obliviousness. | obliviousness; the kind of shouting prosperous English people it was a relief to get away from in Germany. The kind who said "I say, What?" And who could only feel confident as long as someone else was in some way at a disadvantage. | 10.34-37 |
93.9 | a whirl of | a confusion of | 11.8 |
93.20 | her crowding thoughts | her thrusting visions | 11.15-16 |
93.25 | house became | house had become | 11.19 |
94.18 | further she | further in their eyes she | 11.33 |
95.22 | cosmopolitan, and he | cosmopolitan, he | 12.13 |
95.26 | nothing and nobody | nothing nobody* | 12.15 |
97 | CHAPTER IV | Chapter IV | 12.[18-19] |
97.1-100.15 | See Note 3 | See Note 4 | 12.19-13.14 |
NOTE 3 Sitting down almost the moment Mr. Mendizabal brought him into the room and playing Wagner. With many wrong notes and stumbling phrases, but self-forgetfully, in the foreign way. Keeping bravely on, making the shape come even in the most difficult parts. He was hearing the Queen's Hall Orchestra all the time, and he knew that anyone who knew it could hear it too. He was one of those people who stand in the arena and talk about the music and know that there are piano scores and get them and play them. It was amazing that there should be piano scores of Wagner. Did he play because he wanted to remember the orchestra; without thinking of the people who were listening. He did not know the Baileys and their boarders. He could not imagine how extraordinary it was to hear Wagner in the room, suddenly offered to the Baileys. They knew something important was going on; sitting close round the piano surprised and attentive, busily speculating, in scraps, hampered by the need to appear to be listening. Afterwards they would talk to him arching and laughing, Mr. Mendizabal's friend. Perhaps he would come and play Wagner again; there would be music in the room undisturbed by their forced attention. This was only a beginning. At the end of the overture he sat quite still, making no movement of turning towards the room. The group about the piano were taken by surprise, waiting for him to turn. When they began making exclamations his hands were on the piano again. The room was silenced by strange little sentences of music. He played short fragments, unfamiliar things with strange phrasing, difficult to trace, unmelodious, but haunted by suggested melody; a curious flattened wandering abrupt intimate message in their phrases; perhaps Russian or Brahms. Not Wagner writing down the world in sound nor Beethoven speaking to one person. Other foreign musicians, set apart, glancing, and listening to strange single things, speaking in pain, just out of clear hearing, their speech unfinished. Russian or Hungarian. Dvor-tchak. I will ask him. Perhaps he plays Chopin. The Baileys were growing weary of listening. They were becoming strangers in their own dining-room, with a wonderful important evening going on all round them. Miriam consulted Sissie, probing enviously for the dark busy sulkily hidden thoughts going to and fro behind her attitude of listening. Her eyes were drawing pictures of Mr. Bowdoin's back view and noting his movements. Mrs. Bailey was still smiling her pride. Her tired eyes were strained brightly towards the performance with the proper expression of delighted appreciation. But now and again they moved observantly across the slender shabby form and revealed her circling thoughts. When she looked at the back of the thatch of soft fine fair hair she was seeing that officeful of men painting posters, the first arrival of Mr. Mendizabal, their resentment of his quick work, the poster he thought of in the night, here, and worked out at the office in an hour, the musician playing so gravely not knowing that he was being seen as the man who was forced by Mr. Mendizabal to play a Beethoven Sonata on the typewriter with his hair in curl-papers. If Mrs. Bailey went too deeply into her speculations she would be too confused to ask him to come again. Perhaps Mr. Mendizabal would bring him anyhow. He was lounging back in his chair with his hands in his pockets. His face seemed to be laughing ironically behind a proud smile. He respected music. He admired Bowdoin for his talent. He was showing him off. It was charming . . . like Trilby. Men laughing at each other and admiring each other. . . . . . She had left off listening. Mr. Bowdoin was sitting there at her side, separate from his music, sitting there English, a little altered by going out into foreign music. A sort of foreigner with an English expression. Her glance had shown her an English profile, a blunted |
NOTE 4 After the first wonder of hearing an echo of a Queen's Hall Wagner night in Mrs. Bailey's dining room, Miriam forgot the music. Mr. Bowdoin had passed on from the overture to Tannhauser to unfamiliar fragments, unmelodious but haunted by suggested melody and with a curious flattened abrupt intimate message in their phrases; perhaps Russian, or Brahms. She could not listen to them here in the midst of the inattentive group sitting so closely round the piano. He had played the overture, imperfectly, but self-forgetfully, in the foreign way, getting it, and rendering it, so that she had had sitting near the broken down piano, witnessing his difficulties and makeshifts, the whole orchestral impression from end to end and the hope that perhaps if Mr. Mendizabal stayed, he would come again. Perhaps the Baileys would ask him to come again. It would not occur to them. They were drowned in the occasion sitting like strangers in their own dining-room, with the wonderful evening going on all round them. She consulted Sissie's expression, and probed enviously for the dark busy sulkily hidden thoughts going to and fro behind her attitude of sullen listening and painfully resented her opportunity of drawing pictures of Mr. Bowdoin's appearance and his movements at the piano. Passing swiftly to Mrs. Bailey she found her still in a tumult between her pride in the visitor and her circling contemplation of the things Mr. Mendizabal had told them; looking proudly at the slender shabby form and the back of the thatch of soft fine fair hair she saw the disorderly roomful of men slowly painting second-rate posters, the sudden arrival of Mr. Mendizabal, their envious resentment of his quick clever work; the posters he thought of in the night and executed in the last hour before the office closed; Mr. Bowdoin forced by him to play a sonata on the typewriter with his hair in curl-papers . . . perhaps she would be too distracted by these things to think of asking him to come again. Mr. Mendizabal lounging back in his chair with his hands in his pockets had a pleased proud wicked smile hovering about his face. He respected Bowdoin's playing. He respected music . . . He was showing him off. It was charming, like Trilby. Mr. Bowdoin had an English profile, a sort of blunted |
102.19-22 | Her swift amused glance was all she could manage without breaking into shouts of laughter. Her laughter-shaken person was the front of a barricade of derision. | Her single swift glance flashed a glimmer of amusement. She seemed to be holding laughter in her throat. Her person was the centre of a barricade of derision, casting an immense shadow. | 14.13-16 |
103.5 | tonguey tones | tonguey guttural tones | 14.22-23 |
103.7 | word; backing away with a balancing | word as she backed away with a little balancing | 14.24-25 |
103.8 | foot. She | foot. She was Scotch. It was impossible to classify her. She | 14.25-26 |
103.22-104.5 | Miriam got herself across the room and outside the door. On the hall table lay a letter; from Eve; witnessing her discomfort; soothing, and reproaching. . . . . . Eve would have stayed and talked to the musician. ¶Up in her cold room everything vanished into the picture of Eve, deciding away down in green Wiltshire, to leave off teaching; smiling, stretching out her firm small hands and taking hold of London. London changed as she read. She | Miriam moved away. Everyone seemed to be talking. She escaped to the door. ¶There was a letter from Eve in the hall; a thick one. In her cold room Miriam read that she would be surprised to hear that Eve had made up her mind to give up governessing and learn to be a lady florist. She | 14.36-41 |
104.15-16 | plans . . . . coming | plans. . . the children . . . school . . . coming | 15.6-7 |
105.2-3 | the streets | the same streets | 15.17 |
105.12 | her difficulties | her possible difficulties | 15.24 |
105.12-13 | told the* | told it the | 15.24 |
105.22 | how scraped | how slender | 15.31 |
106.1 | Napoleon. | like Napoleon. | 15.35 |
106.13 | so brisk | so joyously brisk | 16.2 |
106.23 | that. . . . . . To-night | that . . . . ¶Everyone in London had been told. There would be the Wilsons to write to about it and the Brooms to tell. That could wait. To-night | 16.9-12 |
107.3 | hostess. | hostess for the first time. | 16.16 |
107.12 | crooked body | crooked spine | 16.23 |
108.6 | sideboard and | sideboard in line with the door and | 16.36-37 |
108.9-10 | everything was blotted | everything on a sudden blotted | 16.40 |
108.10 | and then restored | and restored | 16.40 |
108.13 | darkness was a faint | darkness amidst the secret familiar glow of copper on dark oak was faint | 16.42-17.1 |
108.19 | extravagance, bringing | extravagance, sudden and rootless, bringing | 17.5-6 |
108.23 | its soft-toned | its whole soft toned | 17.8-9 |
108.24 | flowers, standing | flowers, stealing secretly forward with her in her life, standing | 17.10-11 |
109.8 | pollen-dust | like pollen-dust | 17.18 |
109.14 | of realisation | of keenest realisation | 17.22 |
109.18 | room to whom | room and to whom | 17.25 |
109.21-22 | real realisation | best realisation | 17.28 |
109.23 | grew clearer | grew richer and clearer | 17.29 |
110.2-3 | reality comes to you when you are alone. . . . . . | reality can be shared only with yourself. | 17.33 |
110.11-21 | See Note 5 | See Note 6 | 17.40-18.12 |
NOTE 5 "Antoine Bowdoin." If she had had a solemn letter from him first she would never have undertaken to go and hear him play. The formal courtly old-fashioned phrases had nothing to do with the hours of music. She had thought of nothing but the music on the good piano and now when she had forgotten all about it there was this awful result; the "few friends" gathered together in his room on a fixed date so that she might go and hear him play. She would have to sit, with a party, and afterwards |
NOTE 6
A note; brought by hand; scrawling rounded formally reserved handwriting covering nearly the
whole of the envelope, filling the hall-table, bringing disturbance into the crowded evening. She read it
hurrying to the station. Mr. Bowdoin.
She had forgotten him. . . . The note did not bring any renewal of the hours of music. Its request in formal courtly old fashioned phrases for her fulfilment of her undertaking put the enterprise amongst those social occasions, offering only dread in anticipation, and to be lived through like a scene from a play in which she had in a moment of confidence risked being asked to take part. The "few friends" had been gathered expressly that she might go and hear him play. She would have to sit, conscious of this, not really hearing him, and afterwards
|
111.15 | for Eve | for her | 18.24 |
111.18 | Street. | Street station | 18.26 |
112.1 | from being | from its first character of | 18.33 |
112.10-11 | again. . . . . . Miss Scott was Scotch | again. | 18.39 |
112.20 | and sudden | and sullen* | 19.4 |
112.24 | men, made | men, had* | 19.7 |
113.17 | interestedly | interestly* | 19.21 |
114.9 | the things | the other things | 19.35 |
114.11 | with them | with these | 19.36 |
114.12 | talk like | talk as | 19.37 |
116.7 | that man | that men | 20.28 |
116.10 | and sham | and evasion | 20.30 |
116.14 | every tone* | everyone | 20.33 |
116.22 | the goodwill | the struggling goodwill | 20.39 |
117.8 | keep quite quiet | keep that quiet | 21.6 |
118.6 | light of | light and* | 21.24 |
118.15 | in life | in her life | 21.31 |
119.16 | The woman | She | 22.8 |
119.24 | in the country | in country | 22.14-15 |
120.22 | answer again! | answer to prayer! | 22.32 |
121.3 | everything | everyhting* | 22.38 |
123.22 | door and | door in angry hatred and | 24.7 |
125.7 | a soft smooth high | a chalky high | 24.34 |
126.7-8 | fed and with a glow at her heart | fed with a glowing heart | 25.11 |
126.9 | home. | home bought with terrors. All the way home the little scene kept playing itself through her mind. | 25.13-14 |
126.19 | invaded by | played over by | 25.21 |
127.25-26 | imagination | imagination to Mrs. Bailey, | 26.4 |
128.23 | delightedly | delightfully | 26.21 |
130.16 | beam of | gust of | 27.13 |
130.19-20 | an unknown reading | a joyous reading | 27.15 |
130.21 | offered | proferred | 27.16 |
131.11-15 | gathered. She stood smiling, growing familiar with the quality of his voice, gathering the sense of a word here and there. Through his talk he smiled a quizzical pleased appreciation of this way of listening. | gathered. | 27.28 |
131.17 | when she took in | when he had said | 27.30 |
131.20 | his talk | their talk | 27.32 |
131.22-25 | might even listen carefully, and learn the meaning of the post-graduate course and its place in the London medical world; | might learn more about the post-graduate course and find out what it meant and what part of the London medical world it was; | 27.34-35 |
132.5 | flawless teeth | brilliant teeth | 27.40 |
132.21-26 | greatest; and he began outlining the Canadian reputation of names that were amongst the pinnacles of Wimpole Street conversation. She learned exactly why Victor Horsley was great in the world and what it was that Dr. Barker did to fractured knee-caps. | greatest. | 28.9 |
133.1 | up it was half- | up at half | 28.10 |
133.3-12 | See Note 7 | See Note 8 | 28.11-17 |
NOTE 7 leave. Miriam and Mrs. Bailey were left confronted. Miriam laughed a social laugh, unintentionally, and listened happily to Mrs. Bailey's kind brisk echo of it as she stood turning out the gas. They turned to each other in the hall and laughed goodnight. Mrs. Bailey was like a happy excited girl. She trotted busily and socially downstairs humming a tune towards a sociable waiting world, flouting difficuties [sic] with the sweep of the laughter in her voice. |
NOTE 8 leave. When the door of the little back room had closed Miriam confronted Mrs. Bailey again. They stood smiling at each other. Well we must go to bed said Miriam at last. Mrs. Bailey turned out the gas with a laugh. They moved into the hall and hurried off laughing in opposite directions. Mrs. Bailey trotted down the basement stairs humming a tune. |
Chapter 6 introduction | Table of Contents | A B C next » |