Wednesday, August 02, 2006

Subject: kindhearted springtime

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Subject: kindhearted springtime

The dear old body, said Lady Lovejoy, mounting thestairs, Clarissas old nurse. All shefelt was, one Prime Minister more or less made not a scrap ofdifference to Mrs. ForProfessor Brierly was a very queer fish. There was no reason really, except that they hadalways known each other.
An olive-skinned youth from one ofthe Universities stood obsequiously by. Not that THEY added perceptibly to the noise of the party.
But Jenny was not going upstairs with all those people about. Burgess said; the socialbarrier; giving up her children. A part of this Sally must alwaysbe; Peter must always be. Richard was the greatest possible help, Lady Bruton replied.
The All-judging, the All-merciful, might excuse.
She had a sort of feeling thatClarissa had not meant to ask her this year.
Wasnt that Elizabeth, grown up, withher hair done in the fashionable way, in the pink dress? And up came that wandering will-o-the-wisp, that vagulous phosphorescence, old Mrs.
They wont tell us their stories, said Clarissa. Of course, of course she would give him everything! But Jenny was not going upstairs with all those people about.
Clarissa had half a mind to snatch him off and set him down at thepiano in the back room. Yet it was extraordinary to see her again,older, happier, less lovely. How they loved dressing up in gold laceand doing homage! Of course, of course she would give him everything!
And really Clarissas eyes filled with tears. A part of this Sally must alwaysbe; Peter must always be.
Did it matter, did it matter in the least, one Prime Minister moreor less? Morris had been to the Westminster flower-show, and that they had all seen the Prince of Wales.
She was an old woman now, not good for much. For Miss Helena Parry was not dead: Miss Parry was alive.
It made no difference at this hour of the night to Mrs. It was tiring; it was noisy; but Clarissahad asked her.

a poem a dada keeps the nebula away

1 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

upstairs, kindhearted

of course everything,
everything matters.

now, the hour of phosphorescence
pink hair of the will-o-wisp,
within to-night's homage to tears.

(The Red Cross)

10:23 PM  

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