They looked
together at the carpet, as though London itself were to be seen there
lying on the floor, with all its spires and pinnacles pricking through
the smoke.
"On the whole, what I should like best at this moment," Terence
pondered, "would be to find myself walking down Kingsway, by those big
placards, you know, and turning into the Strand. Perhaps I might go and
look over Waterloo Bridge for a moment. Then I'd go along the Strand
past the shops with all the new books in them, and through the little
archway into the Temple. I always like the quiet after the uproar. You
hear your own footsteps suddenly quite loud. The Temple's very pleasant.
I think I should go and see if I could find dear old Hodgkin--the man
who writes books about Van Eyck, you know. When I left England he was
very sad about his tame magpie. He suspected that a man had poisoned it.
And then Russell lives on the next staircase. I think you'd like him.
He's a passion for Handel. Well, Rachel," he concluded, dismissing the
vision of London, "we shall be doing that together in six weeks' time,
and it'll be the middle of June then--and June in London--my God! how
pleasant it all is!"
"And we're certain to have it too," she said. "It isn't as if we were
expecting a great deal--only to walk about and look at things."
"Only a thousand a year and perfect freedom," he replied.
Pages:
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440