She tore the paperacross with one sweep of her hand
and flung it on the floor. A newspaper placard, withlarge black letters, seemed to
finish her sentence for her.
We are children playing with fireworks in the
backgarden .
Its so good of you to come, she said, giving her a
little pat onthe knee. He began to sayaloud the only poem he knew by heart. She told
me to tell you to come to Delias party, he said.
The door was open; the table laid; but
nothinghappened.
Butwhat I want to see before I die, she continued,
is somethingdifferent.
We are children playing with fireworks in the
backgarden . When you lived on the other side of the river, he prompted her. There
were some things he hadnot told her. Eleanors figure stillseemed erect with
indignation. The rush hour was over and nothingwent down the street. They had
reachedthe public part of London; the illuminated. But your lives are much more
interesting than ours were, saidEleanor. The one who sits looking puzzled with his
hat in his hand, shesaid.
They were gliding slowlyround the square. Shall we
send it back, she said, or eat it as it is?
The only fine thing that was said in the war, she
said aloud,reading the words cut on the pedestal.
I cant see to read without a light, he said. A
little shiver ran over her skin as the paper tore.
Thestreet lamps jiggering up and down outside made
the houses oppositea curious pale red.
Or, on the contrary, was it good to feel like that