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Updated: June 3, 2025
It's a matter of teaching when you're a kid, that sort of thing. You're tidy, but you never taught me to be tidy." Rosalie said some more of encouragement to tidiness. She then said, "And there's another thing, Doda. I think you ought not to have rushed off like that to the Trevors last night without telling me." "Mother, you knew where I was. I told the maids."
She began not to look well, Rosalie thought. There often was upon her lovely face a pinched and drawn expression, disfiguring it. On the rare occasions when she was in to dinner she sat strangely moody. There only was a moodiness about that table then; but the moodiness of Doda was noticeable to Rosalie. She ate hardly at all.
She seemed to go out more. The pain within that house, brought there by Huggo, seemed to make that house more than before unbearable to Doda. She often spent the night, or the week end away, staying with the foreign friend, she generally said. She would have nothing whatever to do with the baby now installed in the house. She never would go near it.
In that tenth year her married life there stood for the mother in her face three children: Huggo who then was nine; Dora, whom she called Doda because in her first prattle this heart's delight of hers-"A baby girl!
She was in some other room and did not appear. She said afterwards, and proved, that she had been away the previous night, leaving Doda at the flat, and had returned to find her as she was found; and had immediately called the nearest doctor and then Doda's mother. It was the doctor that opened the door to Rosalie.
There was a chap with me watching you at the Riddle Club the other night told me some pretty fierce " "Oh, dash, I've left my fan," cried Doda, and turned and ran back up the stairs. Huggo called, "I say, Dods. I'm in a row. So'll you be one day, if you don't look out for yourself." Doda's voice: "Oh, dry up you fool!" Strike on! Her Doda!
"Doda, what I've come in to talk about is this. When I was tidying your room last night " Doda sat up. "Did you tidy my room?" "I couldn't possibly leave a room like that. Well, I went to tidy your box " "I'll get up," said Doda. She jumped very quickly out of bed and put on a wrapper and her slippers. "Yes, well?" "Are you writing to men at the front, Doda?" "Every girl is. It's a thing to do.
She was desperately eager to join them there and it was a promise from Rosalie that she should go when she was twelve, earlier if she were good. On this eleventh birthday, which brought birthday letters from the neighbours at the school and thus again brought up the subject, "Oh, haven't I been good?" cried Doda at the birthday breakfast. "Oh, do let me go next term, mother. Father, do say I may."
The one that was her baby girl, that was her tiny daughter! The one that was to be her woman treasury in which she'd pour her woman love; that was to be her self's own self, her heart's own heart, her tiny woman-bud to be a woman with her in the house of Harry and of Huggo! Her Doda! Look, there she is! There's lovely Doda! She's fourteen. It's early in 1915, in the first twelve months of the war.
"It's an it's an ." The voice stammered and hesitated. "Oh, speak! Oh, speak." She could hear the voice gulping. "Oh, please do speak!" "Doda isn't very well. Doda's very ill. It's an it's an accident." "I'll come. I'll come." "Is Mr. Occleve there?" "He isn't. He's out." "Can you get him?" "No. Yes. I don't know. I can't think. Oh, tell me. Tell me."
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