The Damned by Algernon Blackwood EPUB & PDF – eBook Details
- Author Name: Algernon Blackwood
- Book Genre: 20th Century, Classics, Fantasy, Fiction, Ghost Stories, Gothic, Horror, Literature, Paranormal, Short Stories
- ISBN # 9781592248827
- Edition Language: English
- Date of Publication: 1914–
- File Name Format: PDF / EPUB
- PDF File Size: 360 KB
- EPUB File Size: 356 KB
I’m over forty, Frances, and rather set in my ways,’ I said
good-naturedly, ready to yield if she insisted that our going together
on the visit involved her happiness. ‘My work is rather heavy just now
too, as you know. The question is, could I work there—with a lot of
unassorted people in the house?’
‘Mabel doesn’t mention any other people, Bill,’ was my sister’s
rejoinder. ‘I gather she’s alone—as well as lonely.’
By the way she looked sideways out of the window at nothing, it was
obvious she was disappointed, but to my surprise she did not urge the
point; and as I glanced at Mrs. Franklyn’s invitation lying upon her
sloping lap, the neat, childish handwriting conjured up a mental
picture of the banker’s widow, with her timid, insignificant
personality, her pale grey eyes and her expression as of a backward
child.
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I thought, too, of the roomy country mansion her late husband
had altered to suit his particular needs, and of my visit to it a few
years ago when its barren spaciousness suggested a wing of Kensington
Museum fitted up temporarily as a place to eat and sleep in. Comparing
it mentally with the poky Chelsea flat where I and my sister kept
impecunious house, I realised other points as well. Unworthy details
flashed across me to entice:
the fine library, the organ, the quiet workroom I should have,
perfect service, the delicious cup of early tea, and hot baths at any
moment of the day—without a geyser!
‘It’s a longish visit, a month—isn’t it?’ I hedged, smiling at the
details that seduced me, and ashamed of my man’s selfishness, yet
knowing that Frances expected it of me. ‘There are points about it, I
admit. If you’re set on my going with you, I could manage it all
right.’
I spoke at length in this way because my sister made no answer. I
saw her tired eyes gazing into the dreariness of Oakley Street and
felt a pang strike through me. After a pause, in which again she said
no word, I added: ‘So, when you write the letter, you might hint,
perhaps, that I usually work all the morning, and—er—am not a very
lively visitor! Then she’ll understand, you see.’ And I half-rose to
return to my diminutive study, where I was slaving, just then, at an
absorbing article on Comparative Aesthetic Values in the Blind and
Deaf.
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