I don't think she need have written it either. Round what street corner lurk? But Hugo pulledit off all right. I've been reading the wrong books. I'm perfectly sober—I haven't had a drink for five days—and I tell you I shall go on till I'm thirty, and then twenty-five, and then twenty, and then, at sixteen or thereabouts—that fellow wasn't very sound on his ages to-night—I shall die. Nowoman cares that a wrong is done in the abstract. I walked to my Club, lunched alone, and then, in a corner of the smoking-room, busied myself with my rather scanty recollections of the lady I was going to see that afternoon. I knew that itcould be of no great importance, and, looking back on these eventssince, I have thought that it was perhaps a mere disinclination to godown to Surrey that night that gave me pause.
I took my friend's ticket. As a matter of fact it was Mrs Bassett's book, The Parthian Arrow. The lights were switched on, the dingy classic painted panels on the walls could be seen, and instantly every face, my own included, was turned towards the back of a man who was seen to be hurriedly making his way to the door. He saw that I did, and fumblingly sought to fasten the collar again. Tell me what you thought of the lecture. They were boy and girl together.
Beyond theseepisodes which he dreaded lay others that perhaps he need not dread, andothers beyond those, and others beyond those. For him the Arrow and the Ape were both contemporaneous and not. Perhaps it was the northlight. You never know with her. If Icould have torn it in two as Rose had torn it I should have done so.
Well, my ignorance could soon be remedied. Moreover, one other thing had struck me with something of ashock. Just once in awhile, I suppose, two heads may be better than one. Briefly, the book had to do with the merciless economic pressure thatalready, in 1910, made it difficult for people to marry in the freshnessof their youth, and practically suicidal to have children. It had been going on he told me for six months past; but at the outsetI ought to warn you that he had two scales of time.
He was just over six feet high, with the shoulders of a paviour and the heart and lung capacity of a diver. But he was thirty-five again. Then his eyes settled finally on the print, and he repeated my last words over his shoulder. And I was scared at my strength coming back likethat. That is to say, that though insix months or so of actual time he had retrograded the ten years betweenforty-five and thirty-five, it did not follow that he had gone back fiveyears in three months or two and a half in any given six weeks. So I I am allowing myself the man and Sir George Coverham the novelist gradually to reunite, as they gradually reunited that evening —I, his friend, had already done what we all do when we are completely bowled over.
All that sticks in her throat isthat she imagines she's been pilloried as not being able to have one. For her sake he would have torn up every single copy of it if by that means it could never have been. Presently I felt a little more master of myself. It was impossible not to see that in its contrast oforderliness and disorder the very room showed two sharp and distinctphases. The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Tower Of Oblivion, by Oliver Onions.
Oliver Onions Born George Oliver Onions 1873-11-13 13 November 1873 , Yorkshire, England Died 9 April 1961 1961-04-09 aged 87 , Wales Pen name Oliver Onions Occupation Novelist Language English Nationality British Genre , , , historical fiction Spouse 1909—1961 Children 2 George Oliver Onions 13 November 1873 — 9 April 1961 , who published under the name Oliver Onions, was a British writer of short stories and over 40 novels. He was somewhere on Life's stage, but behind, or in the wings, or up in the flies, or down underneath the traps. That'll do to start with. V Presently it occurred to me that there was nothing to be gained bywaiting. I went carefully into this point with him. The rest of the theatre appeared to be empty. The greater therefore must havebeen that current's projecting force.
That she would fly tohim the moment her mind grasped his story I had not an instant's doubt. Of course Miss Oliphantcares just as much as you do when her friend's attacked. As long as it doesn't make any pretence. Nor did I stop to consider that I might be betraying something he did not wish known. I shall adopt the second of these methods in telling thisstory of my friend, Derwent Rose. He had almost carried me out. The little brass slip that bore his name had gone.
He was in his dinner-jacket, but hadthrust his feet into a comfortable pair of bedroom slippers and wassmoking his everlasting bulldog briar pipe. The roominto which she showed me was one I had occupied before, and only a minorchange or two had since been made. I want you to find out for me ifthere's a Mrs Bassett here. But where begin to look for him? Then I thought I heard an impatient movement and muttering somewherebehind me. The double windows he had had fitted into his room subdued the noises of the Circus outside, and if he cared to draw his thick brocade curtains as well he could obtain almost dead silence. She turned her eyes on me. Then he opened his eyes, and there was an expression in them that suddenly dried me up.