Дом с привидениями. Уровень 2 / A Haunted House

But one moment—James Moggridge.

“Dear, dear, dear!”

How beautiful the sound is! Like the knock of a mallet on a timber. Like the throb of the heart of an ancient whaler.

“Dear, dear!”

A bell for the souls of the fretful to soothe them and solace them. “So long. Good luck to you!” and then, “What’s your pleasure?” Though Moggridge will pluck his rose for her, that’s over[6 - that’s over – всё кончено]. Now what’s the next thing?

“Madam, you’ll miss your train”.

That’s the sound that reverberates. That’s St. Paul’s[7 - St. Paul’s – собор св. Павла] and the motor-omnibuses[8 - motor-omnibuses – автомобили]. Oh, Moggridge, you won’t stay? You must leave? Are you driving through Eastbourne this afternoon in one of those little carriages? Are you the man who is behind green cardboard boxes? Are you the man who sometimes sits so solemn like a sphinx? Please tell me. But the doors close.

We shall never meet again. Moggridge, farewell!

Yes, yes, I’m coming. Right up to the top of the house. One moment I’ll linger. How the mud goes round in the mind! What a swirl these monsters leave! James Moggridge is dead now. He is gone for ever. Well, Minnie,

“I can face it no longer”.

If she said that… Let me look at her. She is brushing the eggshell. She said it certainly. When the self speaks to the self, who is speaking? The entombed soul, the spirit.

The self that took the veil and left the world. A coward perhaps, yet somehow beautiful. It flits with its lantern restlessly up and down the dark corridors.

“I can bear it no longer,” her spirit says. “That man at lunch—Hilda—the children”.

Oh, heavens, her sob! The spirit is wailing its destiny, on the carpets—meager footholds—all the vanishing universe. Love, life, faith, husband, children.

“Not for me—not for me.”

But then—the muffins, the bald elderly dog? Bead mats and the consolation of underlinen.

If Minnie Marsh is in the hospital, nurses and doctors will exclaim… There’s the vista. There’s the vision. There’s the distance—the blue blot at the end of the avenue.

“Benny, to your basket, sir, and see what mother’s brought you!”

So, you take the glove with the worn thumb. You renew the fortifications, you thread the grey wool.

In and out, across and over.