But on the thin lips there was a
smile for which no word is lovely enough; and in the eyes was a pure
and far-seeing look, hardly to be imagined except by one who painted
(like Fra Angelico) upon his knees. The background (like that of many
religious paintings of the date) was gilt. With such a look and such a
smile my mother's face shone out of the mass of her golden hair the
day she died. For this I bought the picture; for this I keep it still.
But to go back.
I liked Mrs. Bundle. I had taken to her from the evening when she
arrived in a red shawl, with several bandboxes. My affection for her
was established next day, when she washed my face before dinner. My
own nurse was bony, her hands were all knuckles, and she washed my
face as she scrubbed the nursery floor on Saturdays. Mrs. Bundle's
plump palms were like pincushions, and she washed my face as if it had
been a baby's.
On the evening of the day when I first saw Sister Alice, I took tea in
the housekeeper's room. My nurse was out for the evening, but Mrs.
Cadman from the village was of the party, and neither cakes nor
conversation flagged. Mrs. Cadman had hollow eyes, and (on occasion) a
hollow voice, which was very impressive.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25