She found some
difficulty in swallowing; for once there was no armour on her face. She
stood there a long time without moving, then put the pictures back into
their places and went down the little passage to the house. Listening
outside her father's door, she turned the handle quietly and went in.
Mr. Stone, holding some sheets of paper out before him, was dictating to
the little model, who was writing laboriously with her face close above
her arm. She stopped at Blanca's entrance. Mr. Stone did not stop, but,
holding up his other hand, said:
"I will take you through the last three pages again. Follow!"
Blanca sat down at the window.
Her father's voice, so thin and slow, with each syllable disjointed from
the other, rose like monotony itself.
"'There were tra-cea-able indeed, in those days, certain rudi-men-tary
at-tempts to f-u-s-e the classes....'"
It went on unwavering, neither rising high nor falling low, as though
the reader knew he had yet far to go, like a runner that brings great
news across mountains, plains, and rivers.
To Blanca that thin voice might have been the customary sighing of the
wind, her attention was so fast fixed on the girl, who sat following the
words down the pages with her pen's point.
Mr. Stone paused.
"Have you got the word 'insane'?" he asked.
Pages:
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186