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Updated: May 18, 2025
Bunning's eyes are flaming, his body is trembling from head to foot. "Christ is amongst you! Christ is in the midst of you!" Suddenly, somewhere amongst the shadows a voice breaks out "Oh! my God! Oh! my God!" Some one is crying some one else is crying. All about the building men are falling on to their knees. Bunning has crashed on to his his face buried in his hands.
The misery now in Bunning's eyes was more than Olva could bear. It was dumb, uncomprehending misery, the unhappiness of something caught in a trap and that trap this glittering dancing world! "Then he got to you! He always asked me the same questions. How long I'd known you? Why we got on together when we were so different? silly meaningless things and he didn't listen to my answers.
So much joy in the heart of so much beauty! . . . Cambridge! As he crossed the white court the strains of "Egypt" came, like a farewell, through the tumbling snow. There was still a thing that he must do. He went to say good-bye to Bunning. He thought with surprise as he climbed the stairs that this was the first time that he'd ever been to Bunning's room.
"Oh, I say " and there he stopped. "Won't you sit down?" "No thanks I " "In what way can I be of use to you?" "Oh! I say " Senseless giggles, and then Bunning's mouth opened and remained open. His eyes stared at Dune. "Well, what is it?" "Oh my word you know " "Look here," said Olva quietly, "if you don't get on and tell me what you want I shall do you some bodily damage. I've got work to do.
He was pulling steadily at his pipe as he listened, and he gazed meditatively at the smoke curling away from it and his pipe. "Well?" he said, after a pause. "And what do you make of it? You'll have some idea, I reckon, a man of your importance." Once more the Mace-Bearer looked round, and once more applied his forefinger to Bunning's waistline. His voice grew deep with confidence.
I was stupid at school, my reports were awful, and I was a day boy. It is very bad for any one to be a day boy very!" he added reflectively, as though he were recalling scenes and incidents. "Yes?" said Olva encouragingly. He was being drawn by Bunning's artless narration away from the Shadow.
"Can't you understand that your behaviour makes me wish that I hadn't told you, whereas if you care as you say you do you ought to want to show me how you can carry it, to prove to me that I was right to tell you " "Yes, I know. But Craven " "Craven knows nothing." "But he does." Bunning's voice became shrill and his fat hand shook on Olva's arm. "There's something I haven't told you.
"You see that door in the far corner, over there? There's a staircase leads down from that to the rooms that Bunning and his wife occupy as caretakers a back stairs, in fact. But nobody can come up it, and through the Council Chamber, and along the corridor to the Mayor's Parlour without first coming through Bunning's rooms, that's flat. As for the other well, it's still more unlikely."
If she cares enough it won't matter what you've done, and if she doesn't care enough it won't matter her knowing because you oughtn't to marry her. Oh," and Bunning's eyes as they gazed at Olva were those, once more, of a devoted dog: "she's lucky." Then he repeated, as though to himself, in his odd husky whisper: "Anything that I can do . . . anything that I can do . . ."
I've nothing to do with it. I should think you'd make a very good parson." Olva was brutal. He felt that in Bunning's moist devoted eyes there was a dim pain. But he was brutal because his whole soul revolted against sentimentality, not at all because his soul revolted against Bunning. "No, I shouldn't make a good parson. I never wanted to be one really.
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