Florence knocked all that on the head. . . .
PART IV
I
I HAVE, I am aware, told this story in a very rambling way so that
it may be difficult for anyone to find their path through what may
be a sort of maze. I cannot help it. I have stuck to my idea of
being in a country cottage with a silent listener, hearing between
the gusts of the wind and amidst the noises of the distant sea, the
story as it comes. And, when one discusses an affair--a long, sad
affair--one goes back, one goes forward. One remembers points
that one has forgotten and one explains them all the more minutely
since one recognizes that one has forgotten to mention them in
their proper places and that one may have given, by omitting
them, a false impression. I console myself with thinking that this
is a real story and that, after all, real stories are probably told best
in the way a person telling a story would tell them. They will then
seem most real.
At any rate, I think I have brought my story up to the date of
Maisie Maidan's death. I mean that I have explained everything
that went before it from the several points of view that were
necessary--from Leonora's, from Edward's and, to some extent,
from my own.
Pages:
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257