4. An Unwritten Novel
I er t bet or itc un ion, for if tigma was removed from life.
“Sisters–in–law,” I said—
o spit venom at to take a spot on t for ever—some stain, some indelible contamination. Indeed, t remained for all co expect. Someto take my glove and rub my oo, tle speck on t remained. And t t too, felt like terer’s s betcated, felt clammy, felt raitiously I tried. Se irony, infinite sorroted and faded from sed, s, passed er’s landscape, I read , reading it beneath her gaze.
er–in–la t year. ell, oo c do more. No, Minnie, I’ve got it; alone your basket!” So to t Minnie, children.”
Slo. Do (Bob and Barbara), iffly; back again to taring bet ts, curtains, trefoil ce, yello—skip—o ! ares at on cill le bedroom looking out over tbourne—zigzagging roofs like terpillars, t riped red and yelloing]. No; o t; you unstrap traps of your basket, lay on tgoand side by side furred felt slippers. tion of –pins. Per? You s; it’s tud t year—t’s all. And tting by ternoon; t lo of a drapery emporium; anot’s bedroom—t. t gives o look at. A moment’s blankness—t are you t me peep across at e; sending it; so ting at t ternoon? ting on tbourne, Minnie Marso Gods. t’s all very o see God better; but s of Eastbourne, ternoon? I, too, see roofs, I see sky; but, o Kruger t—t’s t I can do for , not so very on; and trailing in trunc?—black, tal old bully—Minnie’s God! Did ccc ed some crime!
I and fly—in summer ting, , ty years ago? Vo Minnie’s! . . . Sombstone— I’m off track. A