莫瑞尔天性莽撞，对危险也满不在乎。因此不断地出事故。莫瑞尔太太每当听到一辆空煤车驶向家门口，她就会跑出起居室去看。想着丈夫很有可能坐在矿车里，脸色灰白，满面灰尘，浑身无力，不是病就是伤了。如果是他，她就会跑出去帮忙。
威廉去伦敦大约一年了，保罗刚刚离开学校、还没有找到工作。有一天，莫瑞尔太太正在楼上，保罗在厨房里画画——他有这方面的天赋——忽然 有人敲门。他生气地放下画笔 去开门，母亲也打开窗户，往下看。
矿上一个衣着肮脏的小伙子站在门口。
他问：“这是沃尔特·莫瑞尔的家吗？”
“是啊。”莫瑞尔太太说：“什么事？”
但是她已经猜到了。
“你丈夫受伤了。”他说。
“哦，天哪！”她惊叫了一声，“他不出事那才是个奇迹呢。小伙子，这回他怎么啦？”
“我不太清楚。不过可能是腿受伤了。已经把他送 到医院去了。”
“天哪！”她惊叫道，“哦，天哪，他就这副德性！从来没有安宁过五分钟，如果有，我宁愿去上吊！他的大拇指伤刚好，而现在——你见了他吗？”
“我在井下见过他。我看见他们把他放在矿车里送上 去，他昏过去了。不过弗雷泽大夫在灯具室里给他检查的时候， 他大喊大叫地咒骂着。他们要送他去医院时，他说他不去医院，要回家。”
小伙子结结巴巴地说完。
“他当然想回家，好让我来受拖累。谢谢你，小伙子，哦，天哪，我还没有受够吗？我受够了！”
她下了楼，保罗机械地继续着他的画。
“既然他们把他送到了医院，那么情况一定很糟糕。”她接着说，“他太粗心大意！别的人就没有这么多事故。是的，他想把担子压在我身上。哦，天哪，好不容易我们的生活才好了一点。把那些东西拿开，现在没有时间画画了，火车什么时候开？我得赶紧去凯斯顿了，我只好扔下卧室不管了。”
“我可以替你收拾。”保罗说。
“你不用。我想可以赶七点钟的车回来。哦，我的天，他要惹出来多少麻烦啊。而且丁德山口那段花岗石路——还不如叫它碎石子路——简直可以把他颠死。我真不明白他们为什么不修修这条路。这么糟糕的路，何况坐救护车的人都是急病人。为什么不在这儿开一家医院呢。如果那位老板买下了矿区，天哪，会有足够的事故发生，不用担心医院会倒闭。可是他们就不这样做，却一定把人放在一辆慢吞吞的救护车里，送到十英里外诺丁汉去。这太不像话了！咳， 他还要找岔子！他一定会的。我知道谁陪他，巴克，我想就是他，可怜的家伙，他宁愿躲在任何地方，也不想住在医院里。可是我知道巴克会很好地照顾他。还不知道他要在医院住多久——他讨厌住在那里！不过，如果只是腿部受伤，那还不算太倒霉。”
说话的工夫她一直在准备着，匆匆取掉围腰，她蹲在烧水锅面前，把热水慢慢地灌进水壶里。
“我想把这个烧水锅扔在海底里！”她大声 说着，一边不耐烦地拧着水龙头。真是奇怪，这么矮小的女人有一双漂亮又有劲的胳膊。
保罗收拾好东西，放上茶壶，摆好桌子。
“四点二十才有火车。”他说，“你的时间很充裕。”
“哦，不，我没多少时间了。”她大声说，一面擦脸，一面从毛巾上眨着眼睛望着他。
“不，你来得及，不管怎样你得喝杯茶。需要我陪你一起去凯斯顿吗？”
“陪 我一起去？我倒想问问，为什么陪我去？现在，我还应该给他拿些什么？唉，天哪！他的干净衣服——上帝保佑，是干净的。不过最好还是烘干一些。还有袜子——他用不着袜子了—— 我想，还要一条毛巾吧，还有手绢，还有别的什么？”
“梳子、刀、叉和勺子。”保罗说。父亲以前住过院。
“天知道他的腿怎么样，”莫瑞尔太太接着说，一面梳着她那棕色的，细软如丝的头发，不过掺杂着几缕白发。“他特别注意洗上半身，下半身他就觉得没必要洗，不过，这样的人在医院里也是见多不怪了。”
保罗已经摆好了桌子，他给母亲切了两片薄薄的黄油面包。
“给你。”他说道，在她面前放了一杯茶。
“再别烦我！”她烦躁地喊道。
“可是，你必须吃点，东西都摆好了。”他坚持说。
于是她坐下来，轻轻抿着茶，默默地吃了点面包，显得心事重重的样子。
几分钟后，她离开了，要步行两英里半才到凯斯顿车站。她 把带给丈夫的东西全放在一个鼓鼓的网兜里。保罗看着她行走在树篱间的大路上——一个身材矮小、步履匆匆的背影，想到她又陷入痛苦、烦恼的深渊，他又为她而感到痛心。她内心焦急，疾步如飞，感到身后儿子的心紧紧地跟随着她，感到他在尽力为她分担重负，甚至支撑着她。她在医院时，她想到：“如果告诉孩子情况是多么的糟糕，他会很担心的。我最好还是谨慎点。”然而当她步履艰难的往家走时，她却感觉他会来分担她的重担的。
“情况糟糕么？”她一进门，保罗就问。
“不能再坏了。”她回答。
“什么？”
她叹着气坐了下来，解开帽带，儿子望着她仰起的脸，和那双辛勤劳作的小手在颌下解着那个结。
“不过，”她回答道，“并不是很危险，可是护士说，是粉碎性骨折。你看，一大块石头砸在他腿上——这儿——是有创骨折，有些折骨把肉都戳穿了。”
“啊——太可怕了！”孩子们惊呼道。
“而且，”她继续说，“他自然嚷嚷着他快死了——他要不叫才怪呢。‘我不行了，亲爱的！’他看着我说：‘别傻了！’我说，‘不管砸得多厉害，你也不会因为一条断腿要命的。’‘我不会活着出院的，除非进了棺材。’他嘟囔着。‘得了’我说，‘等你好点，你让他们把你放在棺材里抬到花园里开开心，我想他们也会的！’‘只要我们觉得那对他有好处。’护士长说。她是一个很好的护士长，就是相当严格。”
莫瑞尔太太摘掉帽子，孩子们在静静地等着她说下去。
“他的情况糟糕，”她继续说：“一时好不了，这一下砸得很重，失了好多血，当然，这次也很危险。根本说不准能不能完全复原。而且，还会发烧和引起坏疽病——如果情况坏下去，他会很快不行的。但是，他体质不错，皮肉也极容易长好。所以我觉得不会一直这么坏下去。当然，有一块伤——”
她脸色苍白，情绪激动，三个孩子意识到父亲的情况是多么糟糕，屋子里一片沉默、焦虑。
“他总会好的。”过一会儿保罗说：
“我也是这么给他说的。”母亲说。
每个人都沉默不作声做自己的事。
“他看上去也真像不得了的样子。”她说，“但护士长说那是因为伤痛。”
安妮拿走了母亲的外衣和帽子。
“我走的时候他看着我！我说：‘我得回去了，沃尔特，因为火车——还有孩子们。’ 他一直看着我。这让人难受。”
保罗又拿起画笔开始画画。亚瑟走出去拿煤。安妮凄然地坐在那儿，莫瑞尔太太坐在她怀第一个孩子时她丈夫为她做的摇椅上，一动不动，想着心事。她很伤心，为这个重伤的男人感到难过。但是，在她心灵最深处，在应该燃起爱情火焰的地方，却仍旧是一片空白。此刻，她那种女人的怜悯心完全被激起了，不顾一切地照顾他，挽救他，她宁愿自己承受这些痛苦（如果能够的话）。然而，在她心灵深处，她对他和他的痛苦仍然是漠不关心。令她感伤的是，即使在他激起她强烈的爱欲的时候，她仍然不会爱他。她沉思了一会儿。
“而且，”她突然说，“当我走到凯斯顿半路时，才发现自己穿着干活时穿的鞋——你们看。”原来是保罗的一双棕色旧鞋，鞋尖已经磨破了，露 出脚趾。“我窘迫地真不 知道怎么办才好。”她又加了一句。
第二天早晨，安妮和亚瑟上学去了，莫瑞尔太太又跟帮她做家务的儿子聊了起来。
“我在医院里碰到了巴克，他精神很不好，可怜的家伙。‘喂！’我对他说，‘你这一路陪看他，怎么样啊？’‘别问了，太太。’他说。‘唉，’我说，‘我知道他会怎么样！’‘不过，他的情况是很糟糕，莫瑞尔太太，是的。’他说：‘我知道。’我说。‘车子颠一下，我的心就像会从嘴里冲出来似的，’他说：‘而且他常常大喊大叫，太太，即使给我一大笔钱让我再干一次，我也不干了。’‘我可以理解，’我说：‘这是一个让人恶心的工作，’他说：‘但是，要等路修好，还有很长一段时间呢？’ 我说：‘我觉得可能是。’ 我喜欢巴克先生——我确实喜欢他。他有一种男子汉气概。”
保罗沉默地继续画画。
“当然。”莫瑞尔太太继续说，“像你爸爸这样的人，住在医院里可真困难。他不懂制度和惯例，而且不到他不能忍受的时候，他是不会让任何人碰他的。这次砸伤了大腿，一天换四次药，除了 我和他妈妈，他会让别人换吗？ 他不会的。所以， 和护士们在一起，他就得受折腾。我也不想离开他，我很清楚。当我吻了他一下回来时，我自己都觉得不够意思。”
就这样，她跟儿子聊着，几乎 想把所有的心事都倾诉给他，而他也全神贯注地听着，尽他所能地分担减轻她的困难。最后，她不知不觉跟他谈了所有的心曲。
莫瑞尔的情况这段时间一直不妙。整个星期，他处在危急状态中。后来开始好转。知道他开始好转，全家才松了一口气，又开始了快乐的生活。
莫瑞尔住院的时候， 他们的生活例并不是非常困难。矿上每星期给他们十四先令，疾病协会给十先令，残疾人基金会给五先令，还有莫瑞尔的朋友们每星期也给莫瑞尔太太一些钱——从五到七先令不等——因此她就相当宽裕了。莫瑞尔在医院里渐渐恢复，家里也格外愉快、平和。每个星期三、六，莫瑞尔太太都要去诺丁汉看望丈夫。她往往会带点小东西回来：给保罗带一小管颜料，或几张画纸；给安妮带几张明信片，全家人就高兴地看上好几天，然后才让她把明信片寄给别人；给亚瑟买把钢丝锯，或买一块漂亮的木板。她兴奋地告诉孩子们自己在大商店的种种奇遇。画店里的人认识她了，也知道了保罗。书店里的姑娘对她也很 有兴趣。莫瑞尔太太从诺丁汉回来，总有很多新闻。三个孩子围着她坐成一圈 听她讲，一边插嘴，一边争论，一直闹到该上床的时候，最后，通常是保罗去通炉灰。
他常常自豪地对母亲说：“现在我是家里的男主人了。”他们明白了家庭可以是多么的平和安宁。因此他们都有些遗憾——虽然没有人承认自己是这么无情无义——他们的父亲就要回来了。
保罗现在十四岁，正在找工作，他是位个子矮小而秀气的男孩，长着深棕色的头发和淡蓝色的眼睛。脸型已不是小时候的那种圆型，而是变得有点像威廉——线条粗犷，甚至有点粗鲁——而且表情极其丰富多变。他看起来仿佛总是若有所思，显得生气盎然，充满活力。他突如其来的笑很可爱，很像他母亲。而且，当 他那迅速变化着的思路中出现障碍时， 他的表情就变得呆滞、丑陋。他是那种一旦不被别人理解，或感到被人瞧不起，他就变成一个愁眉苦脸的男孩子。然而一旦接触到温暖，他立刻又变得可爱了。
无论他接触什么事物，刚开始，他总觉得很别扭。他七岁就开始上学这件事，对他简直是一种刑罚。不过，后来他就喜欢这种生活了。如今自己得步入社会，他又觉得羞怯，自信也消失得无踪无影。对于一个他这个年龄的孩子来说，可以说他是一个天赋很高的画家了，而且他从海顿先生那里学了一些法语、德语还有数学，但这些都没有商业价值。 他母亲说过，干重体力活吧，他的身体又不够强壮，他不喜欢做手工，却喜欢东颠西跑，或是到乡下旅行，或读书、画画。
“你想干什么呢？”母亲问道。
“什么都行。”
“这不算一个答案。”莫瑞尔太太说。
不过，他确实只能做出这样的答复。他的雄心壮志就是在离家不远的地方，与世无争地一星期挣三十或三十五先令。等父亲死后，就和妈妈住同一所小屋子。愿意画画就画画，愿意外出就外出，从此就快快乐乐地生活。到现在来说，这就是他的打算。不过他内心傲视一切，拿人家同自己比较一下，无情地估计将他们分等。他想，投稿他可能会成为一个画家，一个真正的画家。但是 他把这个 想法丢到了一边。
母亲说：“你得看看报纸上的广告。”
他看着她。这对他来说，翻看广告使他承受屈辱和痛苦的折磨。但他什么也没说。第二天早晨起来时，整个身心都思虑这么个念头：
About a year after William went to London, and just after Paulhad left school, before he got work, Mrs. Morel was upstairs and herson was painting in the kitchen--he was very clever with his brush--whenthere came a knock at the door. Crossly he put down his brush to go. At the same moment his mother opened a window upstairs and looked down.
A pit-lad in his dirt stood on the threshold.
"Is this Walter Morel's?" he asked.
"Yes," said Mrs. Morel. "What is it?"
But she had guessed already.
"Your mester's got hurt," he said.
"Eh, dear me!" she exclaimed. "It's a wonder if he hadn't, lad. And what's he done this time?"
"I don't know for sure, but it's 'is leg somewhere. They ta'ein''im ter th' 'ospital."
"Good gracious me!" she exclaimed. "Eh, dear, what a one he is! There's not five minutes of peace, I'll be hanged if there is! His thumb's nearly better, and now--- Did you see him?"
"I seed him at th' bottom. An' I seed 'em bring 'im up ina tub, an' 'e wor in a dead faint. But he shouted like anythinkwhen Doctor Fraser examined him i' th' lamp cabin--an' cossed an'swore, an' said as 'e wor goin' to be ta'en whoam--'e worn't goin'ter th' 'ospital."
The boy faltered to an end.
"He WOULD want to come home, so that I can have all the bother. Thank you, my lad. Eh, dear, if I'm not sick--sick and surfeited,I am!"
She came downstairs. Paul had mechanically resumed his painting.
"And it must be pretty bad if they've taken him to the hospital,"she went on. "But what a CARELESS creature he is! OTHER men don'thave all these accidents. Yes, he WOULD want to put all the burdenon me. Eh, dear, just as we WERE getting easy a bit at last. Put those things away, there's no time to be painting now. What timeis there a train? I know I s'll have to go trailing to Keston. I s'll have to leave that bedroom."
"I can finish it," said Paul.
"You needn't. I shall catch the seven o'clock back,I should think. Oh, my blessed heart, the fuss and commotionhe'll make! And those granite setts at Tinder Hill--he mightwell call them kidney pebbles--they'll jolt him almost to bits. I wonder why they can't mend them, the state they're in, an'all the men as go across in that ambulance. You'd think they'dhave a hospital here. The men bought the ground, and, my sirs,there'd be accidents enough to keep it going. But no, they musttrail them ten miles in a slow ambulance to Nottingham. It's acrying shame! Oh, and the fuss he'll make! I know he will! I wonder who's with him. Barker, I s'd think. Poor beggar,he'll wish himself anywhere rather. But he'll look after him, I know. Now there's no telling how long he'll be stuck in that hospital--andWON'T he hate it! But if it's only his leg it's not so bad."
All the time she was getting ready. Hurriedly taking off herbodice, she crouched at the boilerwhile the water ran slowly into her lading-can.
"I wish this boiler was at the bottom of the sea!" she exclaimed,wriggling the handle impatiently. She had very handsome, strong arms,rather surprising on a smallish woman.
Paul cleared away, put on the kettle, and set the table.
"There isn't a train till four-twenty," he said. "You've time enough."
"Oh no, I haven't!" she cried, blinking at him over the towelas she wiped her face.
"Yes, you have. You must drink a cup of tea at any rate. Should I come with you to Keston?"
"Come with me? What for, I should like to know? Now, what haveI to take him? Eh, dear! His clean shirt--and it's a blessing itIS clean. But it had better be aired. And stockings--he won't wantthem--and a towel, I suppose; and handkerchiefs. Now what else?"
"A comb, a knife and fork and spoon," said Paul. His fatherhad been in the hospital before.
"Goodness knows what sort of state his feet were in,"continued Mrs. Morel, as she combed her long brown hair, that wasfine as silk, and was touched now with grey. "He's very particularto wash himself to the waist, but below he thinks doesn't matter. But there, I suppose they see plenty like it."
Paul had laid the table. He cut his mother one or two piecesof very thin bread and butter.
"Here you are," he said, putting her cup of tea in her place.
"I can't be bothered!" she exclaimed crossly.
"Well, you've got to, so there, now it's put out ready,"he insisted.
So she sat down and sipped her tea, and ate a little, in silence. She was thinking.
In a few minutes she was gone, to walk the two and a half milesto Keston Station. All the things she was taking him she had in herbulging string bag. Paul watched her go up the road between thehedges--a little, quick-stepping figure, and his heart ached for her,that she was thrust forward again into pain and trouble. And she,tripping so quickly in her anxiety, felt at the back of her herson's heart waiting on her, felt him bearing what part of the burdenhe could, even supporting her. And when she was at the hospital,she thought: "It WILL upset that lad when I tell him how bad it is. I'd better be careful." And when she was trudging home again,she felt he was coming to share her burden.
"Is it bad?" asked Paul, as soon as she entered the house.
"It's bad enough," she replied.
"What?"
She sighed and sat down, undoing her bonnet-strings. Her sonwatched her face as it was lifted, and her small, work-hardened handsfingering at the bow under her chin.
"Well," she answered, "it's not really dangerous, but the nursesays it's a dreadful smash. You see, a great piece of rock fellon his leg--here--and it's a compound fracture. There are piecesof bone sticking through---"
"Ugh--how horrid!" exclaimed the children.
"And," she continued, "of course he says he's going to die--itwouldn't be him if he didn't. 'I'm done for, my lass!' he said,looking at me. 'Don't be so silly,' I said to him. 'You're not goingto die of a broken leg, however badly it's smashed.' 'I s'll nivercome out of 'ere but in a wooden box,' he groaned. 'Well,' I said,'if you want them to carry you into the garden in a wooden box,when you're better, I've no doubt they will.' 'If we think it'sgood for him,' said the Sister. She's an awfully nice Sister,but rather strict."
Mrs. Morel took off her bonnet. The children waited in silence.
"Of course, he IS bad," she continued, "and he will be. It's a great shock, and he's lost a lot of blood; and, of course,it IS a very dangerous smash. It's not at all sure that it will mendso easily. And then there's the fever and the mortification--if it tookbad ways he'd quickly be gone. But there, he's a clean-blooded man,with wonderful healing flesh, and so I see no reason why it SHOULDtake bad ways. Of course there's a wound---"
She was pale now with emotion and anxiety. The three childrenrealised that it was very bad for their father, and the housewas silent, anxious.
"But he always gets better," said Paul after a while.
"That's what I tell him," said the mother.
Everybody moved about in silence.
"And he really looked nearly done for," she said. "But theSister says that is the pain."
Annie took away her mother's coat and bonnet.
"And he looked at me when I came away! I said: 'I s'llhave to go now, Walter, because of the train--and the children.' And he looked at me. It seems hard."
Paul took up his brush again and went on painting. Arthur wentoutside for some coal. Annie sat looking dismal. And Mrs. Morel,in her little rocking-chair that her husband had made for herwhen the first baby was coming, remained motionless, brooding. She was grieved, and bitterly sorry for the man who was hurt so much. But still, in her heart of hearts, where the love should have burned,there was a blank. Now, when all her woman's pity was roused to itsfull extent, when she would have slaved herself to death to nursehim and to save him, when she would have taken the pain herself,if she could, somewhere far away inside her, she felt indifferentto him and to his suffering. It hurt her most of all, this failureto love him, even when he roused her strong emotions. She broodeda while.
"And there," she said suddenly, "when I'd got halfway to Keston,I found I'd come out in my working boots--and LOOK at them." They were an old pair of Paul's, brown and rubbed through atthe toes. "I didn't know what to do with myself, for shame,"she added.
In the morning, when Annie and Arthur were at school, Mrs. Moreltalked again to her son, who was helping her with her housework.
"I found Barker at the hospital. He did look bad,poor little fellow! 'Well,' I said to him, 'what sort of ajourney did you have with him?' 'Dunna ax me, missis!' he said. 'Ay,' I said, 'I know what he'd be.' 'But it WOR bad for him,Mrs. Morel, it WOR that!' he said. 'I know,' I said. 'At ivry joltI thought my 'eart would ha' flown clean out o' my mouth,' he said. 'An' the scream 'e gives sometimes! Missis, not for a fortune wouldI go through wi' it again.' 'I can quite understand it,' I said. 'It's a nasty job, though,' he said, 'an' one as'll be a longwhile afore it's right again.' 'I'm afraid it will,' I said. I like Mr. Barker--I DO like him. There's something so manlyabout him."
Paul resumed his task silently.
"And of course," Mrs. Morel continued, "for a man like your father,the hospital IS hard. He CAN'T understand rules and regulations. And he won't let anybody else touch him, not if he can help it. When he smashed the muscles of his thigh, and it had to be dressedfour times a day, WOULD he let anybody but me or his mother do it? He wouldn't. So, of course, he'll suffer in there with the nurses. And I didn't like leaving him. I'm sure, when I kissed him an' came away,it seemed a shame."
So she talked to her son, almost as if she were thinkingaloud to him, and he took it in as best he could, by sharing hertrouble to lighten it. And in the end she shared almost everythingwith him without knowing.
Morel had a very bad time. For a week he was in acritical condition. Then he began to mend. And then, knowing hewas going to get better, the whole family sighed with relief,and proceeded to live happily.
They were not badly off whilst Morel was in the hospital. There were fourteen shillings a week from the pit, ten shillingsfrom the sick club, and five shillings from the Disability Fund;and then every week the butties had something for Mrs. Morel--fiveor seven shillings--so that she was quite well to do. And whilstMorel was progressing favourably in the hospital, the family wasextraordinarily happy and peaceful. On Saturdays and WednesdaysMrs. Morel went to Nottingham to see her husband. Then she alwaysbrought back some little thing: a small tube of paints for Paul,or some thick paper; a couple of postcards for Annie, that the wholefamily rejoiced over for days before the girl was allowed to sendthem away; or a fret-saw for Arthur, or a bit of pretty wood. She described her adventures into the big shops with joy. Soon the folk in the picture-shop knew her, and knew about Paul. The girl in the book-shop took a keen interest in her. Mrs. Morelwas full of information when she got home from Nottingham. The threesat round till bed-time, listening, putting in, arguing. Then Pauloften raked the fire.
"I'm the man in the house now," he used to say to his motherwith joy. They learned how perfectly peaceful the home could be. And they almost regretted--though none of them would have owned tosuch callousness--that their father was soon coming back.
Paul was now fourteen, and was looking for work. He was arather small and rather finely-made boy, with dark brown hair andlight blue eyes. His face had already lost its youthful chubbiness,and was becoming somewhat like William's--rough-featured, almostrugged--and it was extraordinarily mobile. Usually he lookedas if he saw things, was full of life, and warm; then his smile,like his mother's, came suddenly and was very lovable; and then,when there was any clog in his soul's quick running, his face wentstupid and ugly. He was the sort of boy that becomes a clownand a lout as soon as he is not understood, or feels himselfheld cheap; and, again, is adorable at the first touch of warmth.
He suffered very much from the first contact with anything. When he was seven, the starting school had been a nightmare and atorture to him. But afterwards he liked it. And now that he felthe had to go out into life, he went through agonies of shrinkingself-consciousness. He was quite a clever painter for a boy of his years,and he knew some French and German and mathematics that Mr. Heatonhad taught him. But nothing he had was of any commercial value. He was not strong enough for heavy manual work, his mother said. He did not care for making things with his hands, preferred racing about,or making excursions into the country, or reading, or painting.
"What do you want to be?" his mother asked.
"Anything."
"That is no answer," said Mrs. Morel.
But it was quite truthfully the only answer he could give. His ambition, as far as this world's gear went, was quietly to earnhis thirty or thirty-five shillings a week somewhere near home,and then, when his father died, have a cottage with his mother,paint and go out as he liked, and live happy ever after. That was hisprogramme as far as doing things went. But he was proud within himself,measuring people against himself, and placing them, inexorably. And hethought that PERHAPS he might also make a painter, the real thing. But that he left alone.
"Then," said his mother, "you must look in the paperfor the advertisements."
He looked at her. It seemed to him a bitter humiliationand an anguish to go through. But he said nothing. When he got upin the morning, his whole being was knotted up over this one thought:
| 左右关联 | |
|
|
|
