It came in a moment; the brilliant, spirited old lady
leapt from her bed, raving. For about six months, this stage of
her disease continued with many painful and many pathetic
circumstances; her husband who tended her, her son who was
unwearied in his visits, looked for no change in her condition but
the change that comes to all. 'Poor mother,' I find Fleeming
writing, 'I cannot get the tones of her voice out of my head. . . I
may have to bear this pain for a long time; and so I am bearing it
and sparing myself whatever pain seems useless. Mercifully I do
sleep, I am so weary that I must sleep.' And again later: 'I
could do very well, if my mind did not revert to my poor mother's
state whenever I stop attending to matters immediately before me.'
And the next day: 'I can never feel a moment's pleasure without
having my mother's suffering recalled by the very feeling of
happiness. A pretty, young face recalls hers by contrast - a
careworn face recalls it by association.
Pages:
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290