To Let - John Galsworthy (13 inch ebook reader .txt) 📗
- Author: John Galsworthy
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The Grandchildren Of Soames, As Much As Of Your Mother, Of A Man Who
Once Owned Your Mother As A Man Might Own A Slave. Think What That
Would Mean. By Such A Marriage You Enter The Camp Which Held Your
Mother Prisoner And Wherein She Ate Her Heart Out. You Are Just On The
Threshold Of Life, You Have Only Known This Girl Two Months, And
However Deeply You Think You Love Her, I Appeal To You To Break It Off
At Once. Don't Give Your Mother This Rankling Pain And Humiliation
During The Rest Of Her Life. Young Though She Will Always Seem To Me,
She Is Fifty-Seven. Except For Us Two She Has No One In The World. She
Will Soon Have Only You. Pluck Up Your Spirit, Jon, And Break Away.
Don't Put This Cloud And Barrier Between You. Don't Break Her Heart!
Bless You, My Dear Boy, And Again Forgive Me For All The Pain This
Letter Must Bring You--We Tried To Spare It You, But Spain--It
Seems--Was No Good.
Part III I (Old Jolyon Walks) Pg 59Ever Your Devoted Father
Jolyon Forsyte."
Having Finished His Confession, Jolyon Sat With A Thin Cheek On His
Hand, Re-Reading. There Were Things In It Which Hurt Him So Much, When
He Thought Of Jon Reading Them--That He Nearly Tore The Letter Up. To
Speak Of Such Things At All To A Boy--His Own Boy--To Speak Of Them In
Relation To His Own Wife And The Boy's Own Mother, Seemed Dreadful To
The Reticence Of His Forsyte Soul. And Yet Without Speaking Of Them How
Make Jon Understand The Reality, The Deep Cleavage, The Ineffaceable
Scar? Without Them, How Justify This Stifling Of The Boy's Love? He
Might Just As Well Not Write At All!
He Folded The Confession, And Put It In His Pocket. It Was--Thank
Heaven!--Saturday; He Had Till Sunday Evening To Think It Over; For
Even If Posted Now It Could Not Reach Jon Till Monday. He Felt A
Curious Relief At This Delay, And At The Fact That, Whether Sent Or
Not, It Was Written.
In The Rose Garden, Which Had Taken The Place Of The Old Fernery, He
Could See Irene Snipping And Pruning, With A Little Basket On Her Arm.
She Was Never Idle, It Seemed To Him, And He Envied Her Now That He
Himself Was Idle Nearly All His Time. He Went Down To Her. She Held Up
A Stained Glove And Smiled. A Piece Of Lace Tied Under Her Chin
Concealed Her Hair, And Her Oval Face With Its Still Dark Brows Looked
Very Young.
"The Green Fly Are Awful This Year, And Yet It's Cold. You Look Tired,
Jolyon."
Jolyon Took The Confession From His Pocket. "I've Been Writing This.
Part III I (Old Jolyon Walks) Pg 60I
Think You Ought To See It."
"To Jon?" Her Whole Face Had Changed, In That Instant, Becoming Almost
Haggard.
"Yes; The Murder's Out."
He Gave It Her, And Walked Away Among The Roses. Presently, Seeing That
She Had Finished Reading And Was Standing Quite Still With The Sheets
Of The Letter Against Her Skirt, He Came Back To Her.
"Well?"
"It's Wonderfully Put. I Don't See How It Could Be Put Better. Thank
You, Dear."
"Is There Anything You Would Like Left Out?"
She Shook Her Head.
"No; He Must Know All, If He's To Understand."
"That's What I Thought, But I Hate It Like The Devil!"
He Had The Feeling That He Hated It More Than She--To Him Sex Was So
Much Easier To Mention Between Man And Woman Than Between Man And Man;
And She Had Always Been More Natural And Frank, Not Deeply Secretive
Like His Forsyte Self.
"I Wonder If He Will Understand, Even Now, Jolyon? He's So Young; And
He Shrinks From The Physical."
Part III I (Old Jolyon Walks) Pg 61"He Gets That Shrinking From My Father, He Was As Fastidious As A Girl
In All Such Matters. Would It Be Better To Rewrite The Whole Thing, And
Just Say You Hated Soames?"
Irene Shook Her Head.
"Hate's Only A Word. It Conveys Nothing. No, Better As It Is."
"Very Well. It Shall Go To-Morrow."
Part III II (Confession) Pg 62
Late That Same Afternoon, Jolyon Had A Nap In The Old Armchair. Face
Down On His Knee Was La Rotisserie De La Reine Pedaugue, And Just
Before He Fell Asleep He Had Been Thinking: 'As A People Shall We Ever
Really Like The French? Will They Ever Really Like Us?' He Himself Had
Always Liked The French, Feeling At Home With Their Wit, Their Taste,
Their Cooking. Irene And He Had Paid Many Visits To France Before The
War, When Jon Had Been At His Private School. His Romance With Her Had
Begun In Paris--His Last And Most Enduring Romance. But The French--No
Englishman Could Like Them Who Could Not See Them In Some Sort With The
Detached Aesthetic Eye! And With That Melancholy Conclusion He Had
Nodded Off.
When He Woke He Saw Jon Standing Between Him And The Window.
Part III II (Confession) Pg 63The Boy
Had Evidently Come In From The Garden And Was Waiting For Him To Wake.
Jolyon Smiled, Still Half Asleep. How Nice The Chap Looked-Sensitive,
Affectionate, Straight! Then His Heart Gave A Nasty Jump; And A Quaking
Sensation Overcame Him. That Confession! He Controlled Himself With An
Effort. "Why, Jon, Where Did You Spring From?"
Jon Bent Over And Kissed His Forehead.
Only Then He Noticed The Look On The Boy's Face.
"I Came Home To Tell You Something, Dad."
With All His Might Jolyon Tried To Get The Better Of The Jumping,
Gurgling Sensations Within His Chest.
"Well, Sit Down, Old Man. Have You Seen Your Mother?"
"No." The Boy's Flushed Look Gave Place To Pallor; He Sat Down On The
Arm Of The Old Chair, As, In Old Days, Jolyon Himself Used To Sit
Beside His Own Father, Installed In Its Recesses. Right Up To The Time
Of The Rupture In Their Relations He Had Been Wont To Perch There--Had
He Now Reached Such A Moment With His Own Son? All His Life He Had
Hated Scenes Like Poison, Avoided Rows, Gone On His Own Way Quietly And
Let Others Go On Theirs. But Now--It Seemed--At The Very End Of Things,
He Had A Scene Before Him More Painful Than Any He Had Avoided. He Drew
A Visor Down Over His Emotion, And Waited For His Son To Speak.
"Father," Said Jon Slowly, "Fleur And I Are Engaged."
'Exactly!' Thought Jolyon, Breathing With Difficulty.
Part III II (Confession) Pg 64"I Know That You And Mother Don't Like The Idea. Fleur Says That Mother
Was Engaged To Her Father Before You Married Her. Of Course I Don't
Know What Happened, But It Must Be Ages Ago. I'm Devoted To Her, Dad,
And She Says She Is To Me."
Jolyon Uttered A Queer Sound, Half Laugh, Half Groan.
"You Are Nineteen, Jon, And I Am Seventy-Two. How Are We To Understand
Each Other In A Matter Like This, Eh?"
"You Love Mother, Dad; You Must Know What We Feel. It Isn't Fair To Us
To Let Old Things Spoil Our Happiness, Is It?"
Brought Face To Face With His Confession, Jolyon Resolved To Do Without
It If By Any Means He Could. He Laid His Hand On The Boy's Arm.
"Look, Jon! I Might Put You Off With Talk About Your Both Being Too
Young And Not Knowing Your Own Minds, And All That, But You Wouldn't
Listen; Besides, It Doesn't Meet The Case--Youth, Unfortunately, Cures
Itself. You Talk Lightly About 'Old Things Like That,' Knowing
Nothing--As You Say Truly--Of What Happened. Now, Have I Ever Given You
Reason To Doubt My Love For You, Or My Word?"
At A Less Anxious Moment He Might Have Been Amused By The Conflict His
Words Aroused--The Boy's Eager Clasp, To Reassure Him On These Points,
The Dread On His Face Of What That Reassurance Would Bring Forth; But
He Could Only Feel Grateful For The Squeeze.
"Very Well, You Can Believe What I Tell You. If You Don't Give Up This
Love Affair,
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