She directed him to an old part of the highway, a featureless stretch of old farmhouses capped in snow, with the occasional working silo. Here lay a heap of knockers of all sizes, from the huge lion's head to the small brass rapper: there, a collection of sign-boards, with the names and calling of the owners utterly obliterated. Then she would have quiet times, in which she would say to herself, “Now look here! Let me think it all out!” For the first time, it seemed to her, she faced the facts of a woman’s position in the world—the meagre realities of such freedom as it permitted her, the almost unavoidable obligation to some individual man under which she must labor for even a foothold in the world. The flicker of an eyelash might betray his presence. The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense. Soon they came to treat Lucy almost as mother, pulling hard at her brown curls and laughing delightedly as they sprang back into their spiral shape. “Who’ll mind the baby nar?” was one of the night’s inspirations, and very frequent.
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This video was uploaded to thenextfuture.net on 17-09-2024 21:19:10
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