She moved about with quick, purposeful steps, her long thin body
held up straight, her small face, so much puckered at home with effort
and fear, smoothed out. All she had been and done before this morning,
all she had felt and worried about, was gone. Each of her worries
behaved as the image of Mellersh had behaved, and dissolved into colour
and light. And she noticed things she had not noticed for years--when
she was doing her hair in front of the glass she noticed it, and
thought, "Why, what pretty stuff." For years she had forgotten she had
such a thing as hair, plaiting it in the evening and unplaiting it in
the morning with the same hurry and indifference with which she laced
and unlaced her shoes. Now she suddenly saw it, and she twisted it
round her fingers before the glass, and was glad it was so pretty.
Mellersh couldn't have seen it either, for he had never said a word
about it. Well, when she got home she would draw his attention to it.
"Mellersh," she would say, "look at my hair. Aren't you pleased you've
got a wife with hair like curly honey?"
She laughed. She had never said anything like that to Mellersh
yet, and the idea of it amused her. But why had she not? Oh yes--she
used to be afraid of him. Funny to be afraid of anybody; and
especially of one's husband, whom one saw in his more simplified
moments, such as asleep, and not breathing properly through his nose.
Pages:
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85