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father,” she said, “work a miracle⁠ ⁠… It’s not very much of a little miracle⁠ ⁠… Even if a presentable man doesn’t exist you could put him there⁠ ⁠… I’ll give you ten minutes before I look⁠ ⁠…”

She thought it was pretty sporting of her, for, she said to herself, she was perfectly in earnest. If in that long, dim, green-lamp-shaded, and of course be-palm-leaved, badly-proportioned, glazed, ignoble public room, there appeared one decentish man, as decentish men went before this beanfeast began, she would go into retreat for the rest of her life⁠ ⁠…

She fell into a sort of dim trance after she had looked at her watch. Often she went into these dim trances⁠ ⁠… ever since she had been a girl at school with Father Consett for her spiritual adviser!⁠ ⁠… She seemed to be aware of the father moving about the room, lifting up a book and putting it down⁠ ⁠… Her ghostly friend!⁠ ⁠… Goodness, he was unpresentable enough, with his broad, open face that always looked dirtyish, his great dark eyes, and his great mouth⁠ ⁠… But a saint and a martyr⁠ ⁠… She felt him there⁠ ⁠… What had they murdered him for? Hanged at the word of a half-mad, half-drunk subaltern, because he had heard the confession of some of the rebels the night before they were taken⁠ ⁠… He was over in the far corner of the room⁠ ⁠… She heard him say: they had not understood, the men that had hanged him. That is what you would say, father⁠ ⁠… Have mercy on them, for they know not what they do⁠ ⁠…

Then have mercy on me, for half the time I don’t know what I’m doing!⁠ ⁠… It was like a spell you put on me. At Lobscheid. Where my mother was, when I came back from that place without my clothes⁠ ⁠… You said, didn’t you, to mother, but she told me afterwards: The real hell for that poor boy, meaning Christopher, will come when he falls in love with some young girl⁠—as, mark me, he will⁠ ⁠… For she, meaning me, will tear the world down to get at him⁠ ⁠… And when mother said she was certain I would never do anything vulgar you obstinately did not agree⁠ ⁠… You knew me⁠ ⁠…

She tried to rouse herself and said: He knew me⁠ ⁠… Damn it he knew me!⁠ ⁠… What’s vulgarity to me, Sylvia Tietjens, born Satterthwaite? I do what I want and that’s good enough for anyone. Except a priest. Vulgarity! I wonder mother could be so obtuse. If I am vulgar I’m vulgar with a purpose. Then it’s not vulgarity. It may be vice. Or viciousness⁠ ⁠… But if you commit a mortal sin with your eyes open it’s not vulgarity⁠ ⁠… You chance hell fire forever⁠ ⁠… Good enough!

The weariness sank over her again and the sense of the father’s presence⁠ ⁠… She was back again in Lobscheid, thirty-six hours free of Perowne with the father and her mother in the dim sitting-room, all antlers, candle-lit, with the father’s shadow waving over the pitch-pine walls and ceilings⁠ ⁠… It was a bewitched place, in the deep forest of Germany. The father himself said it was the last place in Europe to be Christianized. Or perhaps it was never Christianized⁠ ⁠… That was perhaps why those people, the Germans, coming from those deep, devil-infested woods, did all these wickednesses. Or maybe they were not wicked⁠ ⁠… One would never know properly⁠ ⁠… But maybe the father had put a spell on her⁠ ⁠… His words had never been out of her mind, much⁠ ⁠… At the back of her brain, as the saying was⁠ ⁠…

Some man drifted near her and said:

“How do you do, Mrs. Tietjens? Who would have thought of seeing you here?”

She answered:

“I have to look after Christopher now and then.” He remained hanging over her with a schoolboy grin for a minute, then he drifted away as an object sinks into deep water⁠ ⁠… Father Consett again hovered near her. She exclaimed:

“But the real point is, father⁠ ⁠… Is it sporting?⁠ ⁠… Sporting or whatever it is?” And Father Consett breathed: “Ah!⁠ ⁠…” with his terrible power of arousing doubts⁠ ⁠… She said:

“When I saw Christopher⁠ ⁠… Last night?⁠ ⁠… Yes, it was last night⁠ ⁠… Turning back to go up that hill⁠ ⁠… And I had been talking about him to a lot of grinning private soldiers⁠ ⁠… To madden him⁠ ⁠… You mustn’t make scenes before the servants⁠ ⁠… A heavy man, tired⁠ ⁠… come down the hill and lumbering up again⁠ ⁠… There was a searchlight turned on him just as he turned⁠ ⁠… I remembered the white bulldog I thrashed on the night before it died⁠ ⁠… A tired, silent beast⁠ ⁠… with a fat white behind⁠ ⁠… Tired out⁠ ⁠… You couldn’t see its tail because it was turned down, the stump⁠ ⁠… A great, silent beast⁠ ⁠… The vet said it had been poisoned with red lead by burglars⁠ ⁠… It’s beastly to die of red lead⁠ ⁠… It eats up the liver⁠ ⁠… And you think you’re getting better for a fortnight. And you’re always cold⁠ ⁠… freezing in the blood-vessels⁠ ⁠… And the poor beast had left its kennel to try and be let in to the fire⁠ ⁠… And I found it at the door when I came in from a dance without Christopher⁠ ⁠… And got the rhinoceros whip and lashed into it⁠ ⁠… There’s a pleasure in lashing into a naked white beast⁠ ⁠… Obese and silent⁠ ⁠… Like Christopher⁠ ⁠… I thought Christopher might⁠ ⁠… That night⁠ ⁠… It went through my head⁠ ⁠… It hung down its head⁠ ⁠… A great head, room for a whole British encyclopaedia of misinformation, as Christopher used to put it⁠ ⁠… It said: ‘What a hope!’⁠ ⁠… As I hope to be saved, though I never shall be, the dog said: ‘What a hope!’⁠ ⁠… Snow-white in quite black bushes⁠ ⁠… And it went under a bush⁠ ⁠… They found it dead there in the morning⁠ ⁠… You can’t imagine what it looked like, with its head over its shoulder, as it looked back and said: ‘What a hope’ to me⁠ ⁠… Under a dark bush. An eu⁠ ⁠… eu⁠ ⁠… euonymus, isn’t it?⁠ ⁠… In thirty degrees of frost with all the blood-vessels exposed on the naked surface of the skin⁠ ⁠… It’s the seventh

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