At the door he delivers
a Parthian shot.]
ROGERS. If my poor farver could see what I've seen to-day, 'e
would roll over in 'is grave!
[MANSON opens the door for him. He goes.]
MARY [gayly]. Isn't he funny? Just because his silly old
father . . .
MANSON. Ssh! His father's _dead_, Mary!
[There is a sudden pause. He comes down to her.]
Well, have you thought any more about . . .
MARY. About wishing?--Yes, lots.
MANSON. And have you? . . .
MARY. I don't know what to think. You see, I never believed
properly in wishing before. Wishing is a dreadfully difficult
thing, when you really set about it, isn't it?
MANSON. Yes.
MARY. You see, ordinary things won't do: they're all wrong,
somehow. You'd feel a bit of a sneak to wish for them, wouldn't
you?
MANSON. Yes.
MARY. Even if you got them, you wouldn't care, after all. They'd
all turn to dust and ashes in your hand.
That last bit is what Grannie Durden said.
MANSON. Who's she?
MARY. She's the poor old woman I've been having breakfast with.
Pages:
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80