Windows eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 81 pages of information about Windows.

Windows eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 81 pages of information about Windows.

     While the shake is in progress Mary returns, and, having seen it to
     a safe conclusion, speaks.

Mary.  Coming, Dad?

Mr March.  Excuse me, Mr Bly, I must away.

     He goes towards the door, and Bly dips his sponge.

Mary. [In a low voice] Well?

Mr March.  Mr Bly is like all the greater men I know—­he can’t listen.

Mary.  But you were shaking—­

Mr March.  Yes; it’s a weakness we have—­every three minutes.

Mary. [Bubbling] Dad—­Silly!

Mr March.  Very!

As they go out Mr Bly pauses in his labours to catch, as it were, a philosophical reflection.  He resumes the wiping of a pane, while quietly, behind him, faith comes in with a tray.  She is dressed now in lilac-coloured linen, without a cap, and looks prettier than ever.  She puts the tray down on the sideboard with a clap that attracts her father’s attention, and stands contemplating the debris on the table.

Bly.  Winders!  There they are!  Clean, dirty!  All sorts—­All round yer! 
Winders!

Faith. [With disgust] Food!

Bly.  Ah!  Food and winders!  That’s life!

Faith.  Eight times a day four times for them and four times for us. 
I hate food!

     She puts a chocolate into her mouth.

Bly.  ’Ave some philosophy.  I might just as well hate me winders.

Faith.  Well!

     She begins to clear.

Bly. [Regarding her] Look ’ere, my girl!  Don’t you forget that there ain’t many winders in London out o’ which they look as philosophical as these here.  Beggars can’t be choosers.

Faith. [Sullenly] Oh!  Don’t go on at me!

Bly.  They spoiled your disposition in that place, I’m afraid.

Faith.  Try it, and see what they do with yours.

Bly.  Well, I may come to it yet.

Faith.  You’ll get no windows to look out of there; a little bit of a thing with bars to it, and lucky if it’s not thick glass. [Standing still and gazing past Mr Bly] No sun, no trees, no faces—­people don’t pass in the sky, not even angels.

Bly.  Ah!  But you shouldn’t brood over it.  I knew a man in Valpiraso that ’ad spent ’arf ’is life in prison-a jolly feller; I forget what ‘e’d done, somethin’ bloody.  I want to see you like him.  Aren’t you happy here?

Faith.  It’s right enough, so long as I get out.

Bly.  This Mr March—­he’s like all these novel-writers—­thinks ’e knows ’uman nature, but of course ’e don’t.  Still, I can talk to ’im—­got an open mind, and hates the Gover’ment.  That’s the two great things.  Mrs March, so far as I see, ’as got her head screwed on much tighter.

Copyrights
Project Gutenberg
Windows from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.