Текст книги "Gossamer Cord"

Автор книги: Philippa Carr

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Of course, we were invited to the Dorringtons. Mary Grace and Mrs. Dorrington were delighted to see us. It was afternoon when we called and Richard was not at home.

“He will be so pleased to hear you have arrived,” we were told. “Edward did tell him you were coming. You must come and dine. What about tomorrow night?”

My mother promptly accepted the invitation.

In my room I took out the miniature of Dorabella which I had brought with me. I set it on the table by my bed and remembered my mother’s words when she had spoken of her misgivings. I had begun to wonder, too. We must remember that Dorabella often acted and spoke on impulse. She often gave more stress to her utterances than they deserved. She was lonely, she had said. That was because she liked to have us all around; my adventures with Jowan Jermyn provided a certain interest and amusement.

I studied the miniature. Mary Grace had caught Dorabella’s personality quite uncannily. Dear Dorabella. I hoped she was going to be happy. I remembered the joy in her face when she had seen my picture. She kept it in her bedroom, she said, but when I was not there she put it away because she did not want to look at it and miss me more. Though, she said, she did take it out at times to talk to it. I would understand her feelings because we always had understood each other.

I wondered whether I should have insisted on staying. But my mother was right, of course. She was sure it would be better for Dorabella to stand on her own feet now that she was married. As for myself, I should be seeing friends and enjoying visits to London. I must not be shut away in a remote part of the country.

“There in Cornwall,” she said, “you are not aware of what is happening in the world. They seem so shut away. They are more concerned with ghosts and shadows, superstitions and such things…remote from what is really going on in the world.”

“You mean the speculation about what is going on in Germany?”

“Well, yes.”

“I think Gretchen and Edward think about that a great deal.”

“Well, they would. Poor girl. She must suffer great anxiety about her parents. It’s not good for the baby. Thank God Edward was able to bring her out, at least.”

“She is safe now.”

“She has a husband to protect her, but that won’t stop her worrying about her family. Kurt is such a nice young man. I think he came over to see them just before Christmas.”

“It was a pity they could not go there.”

“I don’t think Edward would want Gretchen to go to Germany just yet.”

“Perhaps it will all blow over.”

“These things often do.”

There was no mistaking Richard Dorrington’s pleasure in seeing us. He took my hands and held them firmly.

“I’ve been wondering when you would come,” he said.

“We have been away, of course.”

“Yes, in Cornwall. I hope your sister is well. Mary Grace told us a good deal about the place when she came home after that lovely holiday you gave her.”

“It was lovely to have her, and Dorabella was very pleased with her picture.”

“Dear Mary Grace! You have brought her out, I can tell you. We are all so grateful to you, my mother and I as much as Mary Grace.”

“She could really be a great artist.”

“She is very diffident. She says miniatures are not much in fashion now.”

“She must make them a fashion. She can, with a talent like hers, I am sure.”

“You see how good it is for us all to have you back.”

Over the dinner table at the Dorringtons it was impossible to keep the subject of Germany out of the conversation.

There were four other guests—a lawyer and his wife and a doctor and his.

As we had come through the streets to the house, we could not help but see the placards, and the newsboys were shouting: “Standard, News…Read all about it.” “Hitler meets Austrian Chancellor.” “Schuschnigg at Berchtesgaden.”

“What does it mean?” asked my mother as our taxi took us to the Dorringtons.

Edward said: “I don’t know. But I don’t like the sound of it.”

He took Gretchen’s hand and held it for a moment. I wished we had not seen those placards.

As we sat at dinner the doctor said: “It looks as though Hitler is planning to take over Austria.”

“He couldn’t do that,” said Edward.

“We shall see,” replied the doctor.

I wished they would stop talking of the situation, but naturally it was a subject which was uppermost in people’s minds at this time. The papers were full of it, and many were waiting with great interest to hear the result of the meeting between Hitler and Kurt von Schuschnigg.

The lawyer said: “We should have been firm long ago. Hitler and Mussolini are hand in glove. Dictators, both of them. No one can stop them, not among their own people anyway. It’s impossible to curb dictators except by deposing them, and it would be a brave man who tried to shake those two. In my opinion, Hitler is bent on conquest. He wants an empire and he is going to do everything he can to get it. He has got rid of Schacht who has tried to call a halt to the excessive storing up of armaments because it is crippling the economy. Blomberg and Fritsch and others have gone because they were professional soldiers who advised caution.”

“And where is it all leading?” asked Richard.

“I think a great deal depends on the outcome of this meeting. Schuschnigg is no weakling. He won’t allow Hitler to walk over him.”

“We shall know in due course,” said Richard.

I managed to catch his eyes and looked toward Gretchen. He understood. As for her, she had turned rather pale and was staring down at her plate.

“Now tell me,” went on Richard immediately, “what are you planning to do while you are in London?”

“So much,” I replied, “that I am sure we shall not succeed in doing it all.”

“There is a remedy,” he said. “Stay longer.”

While the men lingered over the port, I had a chance to talk to Gretchen in the drawing room.

“You must be very excited about the baby,” I said.

“Oh, yes.”

I laid my hand on her arm and said gently: “Don’t worry, Gretchen.”

“I think of them,” she said quietly. “Hitler is getting more powerful every day. I don’t know what he will do next to our people.”

“Have your family been…?”

She shook her head. “Not yet…but they must expect…”

“They should get out, Gretchen.”

“They won’t leave. I have written to them. So has Edward. Edward says, ‘Come over here. We’ll manage somehow.’ But they won’t. They are so stubborn…so proud. It is their home, they say, and they are not going to be driven out of it.”

“What are they going to do?”

“They will stay as long as they can.”

“How glad I am that you are here!”

“Edward did that. It is wonderful for me, but I think much of my home and family.”

“Dear Gretchen, let us hope that some day it will be different. I am so pleased that Edward brought you out, and now there is the baby. My mother is delighted. She wants to be here for the birth. Did you know that?”

She nodded and I was glad to see her smile.

“When the baby comes…you will feel better.”

She looked at me and smiled rather sadly and I wished there was something I could do to comfort her.

My mother and I spoke of the evening over breakfast next morning.

“I wish that people would not talk all the time about what is happening in Germany,” I said.

“It is certainly the topic of the moment and it is, of course, very important.”

“I know, but the papers are full of it and it does so much upset Gretchen.”

“She can’t help wondering what is happening in her old home. I do hope everything is going to be all right.”

“She’ll be better, perhaps, when she gets the baby. She won’t have much time then to think of much else.”

She was certainly cheered when we went shopping together. There was a great deal of discussion about prams and cradles.

Edward was delighted that we were there, and when I saw him with Gretchen it occurred to me that there did not appear to be the same unwavering devotion between Dermot and Dorabella. But then Edward and Gretchen were earnest people. Both Dorabella and Dermot were light-hearted and perhaps did not betray the depth of their emotions as Edward and Gretchen did.

Mary Grace and I went to see an exhibition of paintings which was interesting. The lawyer and his wife came and had a drink with us and I showed them Mary Grace’s portrait of Dorabella, which I had brought with me. When the lawyer’s wife admired it enthusiastically, I suggested she herself would make a good subject.

I was delighted to have secured a commission for Mary Grace.

I had an idea that the lawyer’s wife lived a fairly busy social life and I was sure that when the miniature was completed, if she were satisfied with it, she would show it to her friends. I should be surprised if at least one other commission did not come out of it.

Knowing my mother’s fondness for the opera, Richard took us all to see Rigoletto, which was an evening of sheer enchantment. We had supper afterwards and talked animatedly about the setting and costumes as well as the wonderful music. I laughingly said I might have been Gilda instead of Violetta.

“Violetta is much more charming,” said Richard, “and it is better to have a namesake dying gracefully in her bed taking her top notes with ease rather than lying in a sack.”

There was a great deal of laughter, but the evening was marred slightly by the news which greeted us when we were on the way back to the house.

Hitler had forced Schuschnigg to sign an agreement before he left Berchtesgaden giving the Austrian Nazis a free hand.

A few days later Richard invited me to dinner. There were to be just the two of us.

It was strange because usually we went in a party. There was a reason, of course, and my mother knew what it meant.

Richard took me to a quiet little restaurant near Leicester Square. We had a table which was fairly secluded and after we had ordered and the food had arrived he said: “It has been wonderful to have you here.”

“We have thoroughly enjoyed it.”

“My mother was saying that Mary Grace has changed a good deal and it is all due to you.”

“Someone would have discovered her talent sooner or later.”

“Well, you did it. We are grateful to you, Violetta…all of my family are indebted to you.”

“I am flattered. But it all came about so naturally. She showed me her work and I saw immediately that it was good. Dorabella was absolutely enchanted with the picture of me.”

“We are all so fond of you. It is not only I…”

“And we of you all, of course.”

He paused for a moment, then he said simply: “As for myself…I love you.”

“Oh,” I stammered. “I…er…”

“You’re not going to say you are surprised and it is all so sudden, are you?”

“Well, we haven’t known each other very long.”

“Time doesn’t count. I know I love you. I want to marry you. How do you feel about that?”

“Well, I know it is supposed to be some sort of joke to say it is so sudden, but it does seem a little so. You see, we really don’t know each other very well.”

“One can get to know people very well in a short time.”

I felt uneasy. A picture of Dorabella and Dermot flashed into my mind. I had let that remark of my mother’s upset me. Everything must be all right with them. And what about Richard? I liked him. I found his company pleasant, stimulating. But I was not like Dorabella to rush into commitments with great haste.

“Marriage is such a serious matter,” I said. “It is a lifetime together.”

“Does that appeal?”

“I just feel bewildered.”

“You must know how fond I am of you.”

“I knew that you liked me. But this is more than that. We are talking about marriage.”

“There is no one else…?”

“Oh, no…no.”

“You don’t seem oversure.”

I was seeing Jowan Jermyn in the field when I had fallen, then smiling at me over a tankard of cider, showing me his house.

“Oh, no,” I said. “There is no one.”

“Then…?”

I looked at him. He was so earnest, a man of honor and integrity, who was devoted to his family, who lived an interesting life. Here in London I felt alive. I liked to be among people, people who were hurrying around on their own business, not watching you all the time, knowing where you came from, what you were doing. I liked Mrs. Dorrington…I was fond of Mary Grace…and Richard, too.

He was looking a little crestfallen.

“It is too soon, I see,” he said. “I just seized on the moment.”

“Yes, it is too soon,” I agreed. “I was never one to make hasty decisions. I should want to be absolutely sure.”

“So you do like me?”

“Very much.”

“You like my family?”

“Of course.”

“Mary Grace would be so pleased and so would my mother.”

“Mine would be, my father, too.”

“Then,” he said, smiling warmly, “the matter is in abeyance for the time being. Would that be all right?”

“I think it is an excellent idea,” I said.

“You are going to get to know me very well while you are in London.”

“And you will have to get to know me.”

“I know all I want to know already.”

“Am I so easy to read?”

“No, but I’m besotted.”

I laughed and he went on: “It is not No. It is just, ‘I am not sure.’ That’s it, isn’t it?”

“That is it,” I said.

“Well, I shall have to be content with that.” He held up his glass. “Let’s drink to it.”

It was a happy evening. I could not help feeling a certain gratification. I suppose it is comforting to be loved, and I had so often been overlooked because Dorabella attracted so much attention.

I liked Richard very much, and I was already beginning to believe that we could have a good life together. There was something real about Richard. I must be comparing him with Jowan Jermyn and in a way with Gordon Lewyth.

Richard was different. I supposed because he belonged to the town. I liked him. I felt I understood him. I thought I could be very fond of him.

But it was too soon. I should get to know him and his family.

When I returned that night my mother came to my room. She could not hide her excitement, and I knew that she was hoping I should announce my engagement.

“Was it a pleasant evening?” she asked.

“Oh, yes.”

There was a brief silence.

“Well,” she went on.

“Well what?” I asked.

“Did he…er…? Did everything go all right? Did he…er…ask you to marry him?”

“How did you know?”

She laughed. “My dear, it was obvious what was afoot. He is in love with you and has been ever since he saw you. He is such a dear. I am so glad.”

“You are going too fast,” I said.

“What do you mean? Didn’t he ask you?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t accept?” She stared at me in horror.

I said: “Are you so anxious to be rid of me?”

She looked deflated and came to me and put her arms around me.

“You know how important your happiness is to me and your father. Richard is such a good man…well, so right for you in every way.”

“I have not said no,” I told her. “But it is too soon yet.”

The relief in her face was obvious. She smiled indulgently.

“You were always the cautious one,” she said, and I knew she was thinking of Dorabella because of the faint uneasiness which came back into her eyes.

She said: “What is going to happen, then?”

“I’ve told Richard I like him very much but it is too soon for me to know whether or not I want to marry him.”

“Oh, I see,” she said. “He’ll understand that.”

“Yes, he does.”

“He’s a very understanding person…with good, sound common sense. Well, he is a lawyer.”

She leaned toward me and kissed me.

She stayed awhile and talked and then said goodnight and went to her room, not entirely dissatisfied.

The news was disquieting. The papers were full of it, and everywhere one went it was discussed so that there was no escaping from it.

Schuschnigg had returned to Austria where he had repudiated the agreement which Hitler had forced him to sign, and had announced that there should be a plebiscite as to whether there should be a political and economic union—an Anschluss—with Germany. Hitler’s response was to invade Austria.

He had the support of his Italian allies, while Britain and France, amazed by what was taking place, stood by and did nothing to prevent it.

Hitler was cheered by the people when he marched into Austria; there was no opposition to his mighty army, which could have been because Austria had no power to do otherwise.

However, it did show people clearly which way the German dictator was going.

Richard said: “There is no end to his ambitions. I rather think this is the beginning.”

He was right. Hitler was turning his eyes to Czechoslovakia.

Then something happened which drove the troubles on the Continent completely from our minds.

My mother and I had been out shopping with Gretchen. We had had a busy morning and returned to the house for lunch.

We were about to sit down at the table when my father arrived.

We could not understand what had happened, and when we saw him we were immediately apprehensive, for he looked quite different from his normal, happy self. He was strained, bewildered, and clearly desperately unhappy.

My mother ran to him and put an arm round him.

“Robert, darling, what is it?” she said.

He opened his mouth to speak, but did not seem to be able to find the words. He was choked with emotion.

“Sit down,” said my mother gently. “Now…tell us what has happened.”

“I had to come…I couldn’t tell over the telephone…I came immediately. She went down to swim…her clothes were on the beach…and she had gone…gone…”

We were staring at him in horror. He turned from my mother to me and his eyes were full of misery.

He said: “Dorabella…she is dead.”

The Open Window

INCOHERENT WITH GRIEF, my father found it difficult to talk. It all seemed so unreal. Dorabella, so full of life, so young and beautiful…I could not believe that I should not see her again. She was part of my life, part of me. She could not be dead. It was some mistake. I could not believe it. I would not believe it.

It was like one of those ridiculous legends.

She went for a swim, they had told him. She had died in exactly the same way as her predecessor, Dermot’s first wife. It was too neat. There was a touch of unreality about it.

My father could not tell us very much. I really believe he had been too stunned to take in what was said. All he knew was that she was dead.

Gordon Lewyth had telephoned. He had said he had some terrible news and he did not know how best to break it. Then he said that Dorabella had gone for a swim. She had evidently made a habit of taking a swim in the early morning. The time of the year was hardly the best, but she had said she found the coldness invigorating.

It could not be true. She had never been enthusiastic about swimming. She had swum at school with the rest of us, but no physical exercise had ever greatly appealed to her.

There was something wrong somewhere.

Gordon had had to get into touch with Dermot, who had been away for a few days on one of the other estates. He was prostrate with grief. The entire household was in chaos.

My mother stood still, clenching her hands. Her face was ashen. She was looking at me with a blank expression of misery and disbelief.

Then she was clinging to me, sharing the misery, refusing to believe this terrible thing was true.

“It can’t be. It can’t be,” I insisted. “I don’t believe it.”

My mother said: “We’ll leave at once. We’ll go to Cornwall. I want to know what this is all about.”

“We’ve missed the ten o’clock train,” said my father. “We’ll find out what time the next one goes.”

It was late when we arrived in Cornwall. There was, of course, no one to meet us, but we were able to hire a car to take us to the house.

I believe they were not surprised to see us.

“We had to come,” said my mother simply to Gordon and Matilda, who were in the hall to greet us.

“This is terrible,” said Matilda. “I can’t believe it.”

“We want to hear exactly what happened,” said my father.

Matilda insisted on some food being prepared for us, although none of us felt in the least like eating.

We sat in the drawing room and talked.

Matilda seemed too shocked to say much, and it was Gordon who did most of the talking.

“It was so sudden, so unexpected,” he said. “She went down to bathe, presumably before the rest of the household was awake.”

“Did anyone see her?” I asked.

“No, but we knew she went. She had mentioned it. She said she had discovered the delights of early morning bathing. We said it was too early in the season because the water doesn’t warm up until mid-summer, but she insisted that she liked it as it was. When Dermot was away she did not come down to dinner always. He had gone to the Brenton estate and it was too far to go there and back in one day. She had swum the previous morning. I saw her coming into the house and she said the sea was wonderful first thing in the morning and it really was the best time for a swim. And then…the next morning…”

“What happened then?” demanded my mother. “Nobody saw her…?”

“No. We didn’t see her around much in the mornings. We thought she had breakfasted and gone off to Poldown to shop. When she did not come back for lunch, we grew anxious and then one of the gardeners came in and said her clothes were on the beach…her bathrobe and her shoes. There was no doubt that they were hers. So…there is only one explanation. We informed the police. Boats have been out looking for her. A plane flew over. There was no sign of her. She must have been carried right out to sea. Perhaps her body will be washed ashore.” He turned away, biting his lip.

“It is so unlike her to go swimming,” I said.

Gordon nodded. “Yes, we thought it strange. But she insisted that she liked it. The currents can be very strong there, and…”

“Didn’t anyone tell her?” I asked desperately. My grief was so bitter, so intense, that I wanted to blame someone for this devastating catastrophe.

“It could happen to anyone,” said Gordon. “People are bathing all the time…and now and then…”

“I can’t take it in…”

“Her clothes were there…and she was gone.”

I could only sit there, limp with misery, clinging to that persistent disbelief. It was the only way I could endure this.

“Poor Dermot,” went on Matilda. “He is heartbroken. He blames himself for not being here. He is suffering terribly…so soon after his marriage…and he is so proud of the little boy. I can’t bear to think of it.”

There was nothing anyone could say.

We sat back in blank and hopeless silence.

I went up to the nursery to see Tristan. He was sleeping.

Nanny Crabtree came and embraced me, holding me tightly against her. She kept saying: “This terrible thing …my Miss Dorabella.”

“Nanny, it’s not real. It can’t be true, can it?”

She shook her head and turned away. She had always been embarrassed about showing emotion.

Her eyes were red-rimmed and she sniffed. She had a habit of sniffing. It usually meant disgust or criticism.

She said: “And what about this motherless mite? I expect Lady Denver will take him.”

“Nothing has been arranged.”

“Well, it will be, and the sooner the better. We’ll get out of this place. I never liked it. There’s something creepy about it. All this talk about quarrels between families, and what’s going to happen to you if you do this and that. I never heard such nonsense. Yes, that’s the best thing. We’ll get my boy to Caddington and back to the old nurseries there.”

Her lips trembled momentarily and I knew she was thinking of Dorabella and me there as children.

She went on: “That’ll be best and it’s the only thing to do. Here?” She looked contemptuously and sniffed again. “That’ll be it, and the sooner the better.”

I went over and looked down on Tristan.

“He’s got a look of you, Miss Violetta,” she said. “Well, it’s natural like…he reminds me more of you than of his mother.”

Sleeping as he was, she lifted him up.

“Here, sit down,” she said. I did so and she put him on my lap.

A great tenderness swept over me. He looked so vulnerable. I felt a momentary easing of my desperate unhappiness. Here was something left to me of Dorabella.

When I left the nursery I went straight to my mother’s room. She was sitting at the window, staring blankly out. She turned to me and smiled wanly. I said: “I’ve been to the nursery.”

“Poor Nanny,” she said. “She’s heartbroken.”

“She thinks that we should take Tristan back to Caddington with us.”

“That is our intention…your father’s and mine. We’ve already talked about it. It’s the natural thing.”

“Nanny Crabtree doesn’t like this place.”

“I don’t think any of us will want to come here again.”

“What about Dermot? Tristan is his son, remember.”

“Dermot seems not to know what he wants.” Her voice was faintly critical. Like me, she wanted to blame someone. No doubt she was thinking that if he had not been away at the time it would not have happened. Why wasn’t he looking after his wife? Why didn’t he forbid her to go bathing on the very beach where his first wife had died? Forbid Dorabella? That would be like urging her on. Poor Dermot! He was as desolate as we were and could not bear to do anything but shut himself away with his misery.

My mother was now thinking, If only Dorabella had never met Dermot. If only we had never seen this place! If only she were safe at home with her children around her.

I understood. She wanted to get away from this house…as Nanny Crabtree did. We had to blame something, if it was only the place.

“I’d like to get away as soon as possible,” she was saying. “You don’t think that there has been some mistake? I can’t get out of my mind that she is not dead. I know it’s fanciful, but she and I…well, there were times when we were like one person. Often I knew what she was thinking…and I can’t get over this…well, almost certainty…that she is…somewhere…that she will come back.”

“I know, I know…” said my mother soothingly. “I can’t believe it, either. But we have to face it…and we shall do that better when we get away from this place.”

I could not explain to her that, although everything pointed to the fact that Dorabella was dead, I had a feeling that she was somewhere, and I would one day find her. I could not and would not accept the fact that she was dead.

My mother said she would speak to Matilda. She would tell her that we would go away and take Tristan with us.

I was amazed, later, when she told me that Matilda was shocked by the suggestion.

“She looked at me with real dismay,” my mother told me. “She said, ‘I don’t know whether Mr. Tregarland would agree to that. The child is his grandson. This is a big estate and when Dermot inherits, Tristan will be his heir. It’s a tradition in the family that the heir is brought up here.’ I replied that we were not proposing to cut him off from his family. It just seemed more convenient for us to take him to Caddington. After all, we are his grandparents and it would be easier at our place. I could see she was shaken by the idea. She said she would put it to Mr. Tregarland. I said, ‘You mean Dermot?’ ‘Dermot and his father, of course,’ she answered. I then remarked that I thought Dermot would know very little about bringing up a baby and that his father would not be very interested. I was sure, also, that she herself had too much to do with running the household to want to take on the care of a young child. ‘There is Nanny Crabtree,’ she said. ‘She would stay, of course.’ I was astounded. I thought they would have been only too glad for us to take him.”

“Well, what is going to happen?”

“I don’t know. She talked as though it were the old man who would make the objections. I can’t quite see that somehow. I expect it will be all right.”

But it was not. Mr. Tregarland was adamant.

He said: “I appreciate your feelings, and I am sure the boy would be very well looked after with you, but he is a Tregarland. He is my grandson. He will own this place one day. No, no, I thank you for your kindness, but I could not allow the boy to leave his home.”

Both my mother and I were dumbfounded.

My father said: “We shall have to accept. His father will insist that he stay.”

“I don’t think Dermot would insist.”

“He will stand with his father, poor chap. He is stunned by this. He has lost his wife. It is natural, I suppose, that he does not want to lose his son as well.”

There was a great deal of discussion and at last my mother had to accept the fact that she was not going to be allowed to take Tristan back with her.

As for myself, I was in a quandary.

There had been a time when I had felt I wanted to get away from this place, and now I was realizing that I did not want to go.

I could not rid myself of the notion that Dorabella was alive. I felt certain that one day I should see her again. There was a mistake. I thought of the most wildly impossible solutions. She had drifted out to sea; she had lost her memory; she had been picked up by a ship. She was alive somewhere. Her body had never been found, and I knew that until it was I should believe she was alive. It was ridiculous, of course, but I had to cling to something. She and I had been so close; we were, as she said, like one person; there was that bond between us…that gossamer cord to which she had once referred. I felt it there now.

I dreamed of her and in that dream she came to my room as she had in reality. She said: “Remember your promise. If I am not there, you will look after my baby. Swear…”

And I had given my promise. It had been a sacred one. I had to keep it.

I said to my mother: “Dorabella once said a strange thing. She made me swear that I would look after her child if she were not here.”

“What?” cried my mother.

“She came to my room one night. She said we had always been like one person and if anything happened to her I was to look after her child. I swore I would. When you go…I shall stay here.”

“Violetta, listen to me. That sounds noble, but you can’t shut yourself away down here. It is not fair to you. Oh, if only they’d be sensible and let me take Tristan!”

But I had decided that, whatever the opposition, I must keep my word to Dorabella.

I had a chance to speak to Dermot. He looked strained and all the gaiety was gone from him. His eyes were bloodshot, and I noticed how his hands trembled. I hardly recognized him as the merry, insouciant young man whom we had met in the Böhmerwald.

He kept saying: “I can’t believe it, Violetta. I can’t believe it.”

“Nor I,” I told him.

A wild look came into his eyes. “And, to go that way…” he murmured. “What does it mean?”

I shook my head.

“It’s the same…it’s so strange…How could they both…in the same way?”