|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 77
"Kill it!"
Al considered this a moment. Things were bad enough now, without
Claribel murdering the child and making things worse.
"I wouldn't do that," he said soothingly. "You can put it somewhere,
can't you? Maybe Rosie'll know."
"I don't want it to live."
For the first time he realised her despair. She turned on him her
tormented eyes, and he quailed.
"I'll find a place for it, kid," he said. "It's mine, too. I guess
I'm it, all right."
"Yours!" She half rose on her elbow, weak as she was. "Yours! Didn't
you throw me over when you found I was going to have it? Yours! Did
you go through hell for twenty-four hours to bring it into the
world? I tell you, it's mine--mine! And I'll do what I want with it.
I'll kill it, and myself too!"
"You don't know what you're saying!"
She had dropped back, white and exhausted.
"Don't I?" she said, and fell silent.
Al felt defrauded, ill-treated. He had done the right thing; he had
come to see the girl, which wasn't customary in those circles where
Al lived and worked and had his being; he had acknowledged his
responsibility, and even--why, hang it all----
"Say the word and I'll marry you," he said magnanimously.
"I don't want to marry you."
He drew a breath of relief. Nothing could have been fairer than his
offer, and she had refused it. He wished Rosie had been there to
hear.
And just then Rosie came. She carried the baby, still faintly
odorous of violets, held tight in unaccustomed arms. She looked
awkward and conscious, but her amused smile at herself was half
tender.
"Hello, Claribel," she said. "How are you? Just look here, Al! What
do you think of this?"
Al got up sheepishly and looked at the child.
"Boy or girl?" he asked politely.
"Girl; but it's the living image of you," said Rose--for Rose and
the Nurse were alike in the wiles of the serpent.
"Looks like me!" Al observed caustically. "Looks like an over-ripe
tomato!"
But he drew himself up a trifle. Somewhere in his young and
hardened soul the germs of parental pride, astutely sowed, had taken
quick root.
"Feel how heavy she is," Rose commanded. And Al held out two arms
unaccustomed to such tender offices.
"Heavy! She's about as big as a peanut."
"Mind her back," said Rose, remembering instructions.
After her first glance Claribel had not looked at the child. But
now, in its father's arms, it began to whimper. The mother stirred
uneasily, and frowned.
"Take it away!" she ordered. "I told them not to bring it here."
The child cried louder. Its tiny red face, under the powder, turned
purple. It beat the air with its fists. Al, still holding it in his
outstretched arms, began vague motions to comfort it, swinging it up
and down and across. But it cried on, drawing up its tiny knees in
spasms of distress. Claribel put her fingers in her ears.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|