"I believe in the bed, in the photographs, in the pot, in the balcony,
in the sun, in Mrs. Flushing," she remarked, still speaking recklessly,
with something at the back of her mind forcing her to say the things
that one usually does not say. "But I don't believe in God, I don't
believe in Mr. Bax, I don't believe in the hospital nurse. I don't
believe--" She took up a photograph and, looking at it, did not finish
her sentence.
"That's my mother," said Evelyn, who remained sitting on the floor
binding her knees together with her arms, and watching Rachel curiously.
Rachel considered the portrait. "Well, I don't much believe in her," she
remarked after a time in a low tone of voice.
Mrs. Murgatroyd looked indeed as if the life had been crushed out of
her; she knelt on a chair, gazing piteously from behind the body of a
Pomeranian dog which she clasped to her cheek, as if for protection.
"And that's my dad," said Evelyn, for there were two photographs in one
frame. The second photograph represented a handsome soldier with high
regular features and a heavy black moustache; his hand rested on the
hilt of his sword; there was a decided likeness between him and Evelyn.
"And it's because of them," said Evelyn, "that I'm going to help the
other women. You've heard about me, I suppose? They weren't married, you
see; I'm not anybody in particular.
Pages:
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365