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Updated: June 15, 2025
But for the moment his old invincible habit of shyness and sensitiveness forbade any responsive lightness of welcome, and he was merely formal, merely courteous. "And all your luggage left behind," he said. "Won't you be dreadfully uncomfortable?" "Uncomfortable? Why?" asked Falbe. "I shall buy a handkerchief and a collar every day, and a shirt and a pair of socks every other day till it arrives."
Michael saw that the nurse wanted to say something to him, and with infinite gentleness disentangled the clinging of Lady Ashbridge's hand. "Why, of course I will," he said. "And won't you give Miss Falbe another cup of tea?" Lady Ashbridge hesitated a moment. "Yes, I'll do that," she said. "And by the time I've done that you will be back again, won't you?"
"But I'm completely uninteresting," said Michael. "Yes; I'll judge of that," said Falbe. Slowly, and with diffident pauses, Michael began to speak of himself, feeling at first as if he was undressing in public. But as he went on he became conscious of the welcome that his story received, though that welcome only expressed itself in perfectly unemotional monosyllables.
It's it's like what we agreed about Parsifal. We don't talk about it because it is so much part of us." Falbe sat up. "I deny it; I deny it flatly," he said. "I know where I get my power of foolish, unthinking enjoyment from, and it's from my English blood. I rejoice in my English blood, because you are the happiest people on the face of the earth.
Was it last night only that Falbe had played the Variations, and that they had acted charades? Francis proceeded in bland unconsciousness. "I didn't know Germans could be so jolly," he continued. "As a rule I don't like Germans. When they try to be jolly they generally only succeed in being top-heavy. But, of course, your friend is half-English. Can't he play, too?
Here Falbe was not so easily moved to laughter; he was as severe with Michael as he was with himself, when it was the question of learning some piece with a view to really playing it. There was no light-hearted hurrying on through blurred runs and false notes, slurred phrases and incomplete chords.
I'll do either you like." Mrs. Falbe strayed in at this moment with her finger in her book, but otherwise as purposeless as a wandering mist. "I was afraid it might be going to get chilly," she remarked. "After a hot day there is often a cool evening. Will you stop and dine, Lord I mean, Michael?" "Please; certainly!" said Michael. "Then I hope there will be something for you to eat.
"And he recommended me to spend two months in Berlin in the winter," added Michael, sliding off on to other topics. Falbe smiled. "I like that less," he said, "since that will mean you will not be in London." "But I didn't commit myself," said Michael, smiling back; "though I can say 'beloved Germany' with equal sincerity." Falbe got up.
Falbe, in whose blood, it would seem, no sense of race beat at all, would add to the embarrassment by childlike comments, saying at one time in reference to such things that she made a point of not believing all she saw in the newspapers, or at another ejaculating, "Well, the Germans do seem to have behaved very cruelly again!"
And even more than that, there was the instinct, the certain conviction that he was telling his tale to sympathetic ears, to which the mere fact that he was speaking of himself presupposed a friendly hearing. Falbe, he felt, wanted to know about him, regardless of the nature of his confessions.
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