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Updated: June 13, 2025
I said after a silence. "Yes, I made him ... about himself." "And to the point?" "If you mean by this," said Marlow, "that it was about the voyage of the Ferndale, then again, yes. I brought him to talk about that voyage, which, by the by, was not the first voyage of Flora de Barral. The man himself, as I told you, is simple, and his faculty of wonder not very great.
You hear no tormenting echoes of your own littleness there, where either a great elemental voice roars defiantly under the sky or else an elemental silence seems to be part of the infinite stillness of the universe." Remembering Flora de Barral in the depths of moral misery, and Roderick Anthony carried away by a gust of tempestuous tenderness, I asked myself, Is it all forgotten already?
The respectable citizen addressed Miss de Barral as "Florrie" and "my dear," remarking to her that she was not very big "there's not much of you my dear," in a familiarly disparaging tone. Then turning to Mrs Fyne, and quite loud, "She's very white in the face. Why's that?" To this Mrs Fyne made no reply. She had put the girl's hair up that morning with her own hands.
Having accidentally, in the course of the operations, knocked it off on the floor she let it lie there after a downward glance. Thus it, or the frame at least, became, I suppose, part of the assets in the de Barral bankruptcy. At dinner that evening the child found her company dull and brusque. It was uncommonly slow.
He uttered the name of the cousin the man, you remember, who did not approve of the Fynes, and whom rightly or wrongly little Fyne suspected of interested motives, in view of de Barral having possibly put away some plunder, somewhere before the smash. I may just as well tell you at once that I don't know anything more of him.
Flora de Barral did lie down, and it may be presumed she slept. At any rate she survived the voyage across the North Sea and told Mrs Fyne all about it, concealing nothing and receiving no rebuke for Mrs Fyne's opinions had a large freedom in their pedantry. She held, I suppose, that a woman holds an absolute right or possesses a perfect excuse to escape in her own way from a man-mismanaged world.
I burst into a laugh which only increased the coldness of her observing stare. "They are. Immensely! Hopelessly! My dear Mrs Fyne, you had better give it up! It only makes your husband miserable." "And I am quite miserable too. It is really our first difference..." "Regarding Miss de Barral?" I asked. "Regarding everything. It's really intolerable that this girl should be the occasion.
It seems however that she was capable of detaching her eyes from her task now and then, if only for a moment, because it was from that garret fitted out for a study that one afternoon she observed her brother and Flora de Barral coming down the road side by side. She noticed that they appeared to be conversing without constraint.
What, that would be effective, could one say, without proofs, without ... This Mr de Barral must be, Mrs Fyne pronounced, either a very stupid or a downright bad man, to neglect his child so.
He had never been for me a person of prestige and power, like that awful governess to Flora de Barral. See the might of suggestion? We live at the mercy of a malevolent word. A sound, a mere disturbance of the air, sinks into our very soul sometimes. Flora de Barral had been more astounded than convinced by the first impetuosity of Roderick Anthony.
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