England -- Fiction; Mothers and daughters -- Fiction
"No, I'm only afraid of your taking your hand away."
"Then listen. I want you to work as we are doing until you come of age,
then I want you to go to Cambridge, as I've often told you, but after
that--I want you to make a home with me."
"Elizabeth!"
"Yes, I have a little money put by, not very much, but enough, and I
want you to come to London and live there with me. We could jog along
somehow; I'd get a job while you studied at the hospital; we'd have a
little flat together, and be free and very happy. I've wanted to say
this to you for some time and to-day somehow it's all come out; it had
to get said sooner or later. Joan, I can't stand Seabourne for many more
years, and yet as long as you're here I can't get away. I tell you there
are times when I could dash myself to bits on the respectable
mud-coloured wall of our house, when I could lay a trail of gunpowder
down the middle of the High Street and set light to the fuse, when I
could hurl Ralph's woollen socks in his face and pull down the plush
curtains and stamp on them, when I could throw all the things out of the
study window, one by one, at the heads of the people on the parade, when
I could--oh, Joan!--when I could swim a long way out to sea and never
come back; I nearly did that once, and then I thought of you and I came
back, and here I am. But how long will you make me stay here, Joan? How
long shall I have to endure the sight of you growing weaker instead of
stronger, as you mature, and some day perhaps the sight of you growing
old and empty and utterly meaningless, with all the life and blood
sucked out of you by this detestable place, when we might get free and
hustle along with life, when we might be purposeful and tired and happy
because we mean something."
Joan got up.
"Listen," she said. "When I'm twenty-one I _will_ go to Cambridge and
after that I shall come to you in London; we'll find a little flat and
be very happy, Elizabeth."
Elizabeth looked straight into her eyes with a cold, searching scrutiny.
"Is that a promise, Joan?"
"Yes, it's a promise."
2
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account