'
Gudrun was looking at him with large, grave eyes, that seemed to draw
the confession from him as the marrow from his bones. All his nature
held him back from confessing. And yet her large, grave eyes upon him
seemed to open some valve in his veins, and involuntarily he was
telling.
'My father was a man who did not like work, and we had no mother. We
lived in Austria, Polish Austria. How did we live? Ha!--somehow! Mostly
in a room with three other families--one set in each corner--and the
W.C. in the middle of the room--a pan with a plank on it--ha! I had two
brothers and a sister--and there might be a woman with my father. He
was a free being, in his way--would fight with any man in the town--a
garrison town--and was a little man too. But he wouldn't work for
anybody--set his heart against it, and wouldn't.'
'And how did you live then?' asked Ursula.
He looked at her--then, suddenly, at Gudrun.
'Do you understand?' he asked.
'Enough,' she replied.
Their eyes met for a moment.
Pages:
857
858
859
860
861
862
863
864
865
866
867
868
869
870
871
872
873
874
875
876
877
878
879
880
881