The Two Magics: The Turn of the Screw, Covering End — John Shaqi
The Two Magics: The Turn of the Screw, Covering EndJames, Henry
General
The Two Magics: The Turn of the Screw, Covering End
James, Henry
Children -- Fiction; Country homes -- Fiction; Courtship -- Fiction; England -- Fiction; Governesses -- Fiction; Mortgages -- Fiction
when they loomed through the dusk, by the grandeur of their actual
battlements; yet it was not at such an elevation that the figure I had
so often invoked seemed most in place.
It produced in me, this figure, in the clear twilight, I remember, two
distinct gasps of emotion, which were, sharply, the shock of my first
and that of my second surprise. My second was a violent perception of
the mistake of my first: the man who met my eyes was not the person
I had precipitately supposed. There came to me thus a bewilderment
of vision of which, after these years, there is no living view that
I can hope to give. An unknown man in a lonely place is a permitted
object of fear to a young woman privately bred; and the figure that
faced me was--a few more seconds assured me--as little anyone else I
knew as it was the image that had been in my mind. I had not seen it
in Harley Street--I had not seen it anywhere. The place, moreover, in
the strangest way in the world, had, on the instant, and by the very
fact of its appearance, become a solitude. To me at least, making my
statement here with a deliberation with which I have never made it,
the whole feeling of the moment returns. It was as if, while I took
in--what I did take in--all the rest of the scene had been stricken
with death. I can hear again, as I write, the intense hush in which the
sounds of evening dropped. The rooks stopped cawing in the golden sky
and the friendly hour lost, for the minute, all its voice. But there
was no other change in nature, unless indeed it were a change that
I saw with a stranger sharpness. The gold was still in the sky, the
clearness in the air, and the man who looked at me over the battlements
was as definite as a picture in a frame. That’s how I thought,
with extraordinary quickness, of each person that he might have been
and that he was not. We were confronted across our distance quite long
enough for me to ask myself with intensity who then he was and to feel,
as an effect of my inability to say, a wonder that in a few instants
more became intense.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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