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Updated: June 12, 2025
She doesn't even know who she was." The remark was tossed to Dart. "Never even 'eard 'er name," with unabated cheer said Miss Montaubyn. "She come an' she went an' me too low to do anything but lie an' look at 'er and listen. An' 'Which of us two is mad? I ses to myself. But I lay thinkin' and thinkin' an' it was so cheerfle I couldn't get it out of me 'ead nor never 'ave since."
"If I 'ad money I could do it. 'Ow much," with sudden prudence, "could a body 'ave with one o' them wands?" "More than enough to do all you have spoken of," answered Dart. "It's a shime a body couldn't 'ave it. Apple Blossom Court 'd be a different thing. It'd be the sime as Miss Montaubyn says it's goin' to be."
Antony Dart glanced round the room. It was a strange place. But something WAS here. Magic, was it? Frenzy dreams what? He heard from below a sudden murmur and crying out in the street. Miss Montaubyn heard it and stopped in her sewing, holding her needle and thread extended. Glad heard it and sprang to her feet. "Somethin's 'appened," she cried out. "Someone's 'urt."
Slowly the lids of the woman's eyes lifted and the pupils fixed themselves on Jinny Montaubyn, who leaned still closer and spoke again. "'T ain't true," she said. "Not this. 'T ain't TRUE. There IS NO DEATH," slow and soft, but passionately distinct. The muscles of the woman's face twisted it into a rueful smile.
She was out of the room in a breath's space. She stood outside listening a few seconds and darted back to the open door, speaking through it. They could hear below commotion, exclamations, the wail of a child. "Somethin's 'appened to Bet!" she cried out again. "I can 'ear the child." She was gone and flying down the staircase; Antony Dart and Miss Montaubyn rose together.
An abnormal silence fell. The owners of such faces as on stretched necks caught sight of her seemed in a flash to communicate with others in the crowd. "Jinny Montaubyn!" someone whispered. And "Jinny Montaubyn" was passed along, leaving an awed stirring in its wake.
Miss Montaubyn, returning from the hospital, had filled him at first with horror and protest. "But who knows who knows?" he said to Dart, as they stood and talked together afterward, "Faith as a little child. That is literally hers. And I was shocked by it and tried to destroy it, until I suddenly saw what I was doing.
Plainly she had uttered whatever words she had used in the form of a sort of incantation, and here was the result in the living body of this man sitting before her. She stared hard at him, repeating her words: "YOU come. Yes, you did." "It was the answer," said Miss Montaubyn, with entire simplicity as she bit off her thread, "that's wot it was." Antony Dart lifted his heavy head.
Perhaps the brain of her saw it still as an incantation, perhaps the soul of her, called up strangely out of the dark and still new-born and blind and vague, saw it vaguely and half blindly as something else. Dart was wondering which of these things were true. "We've never been expectin' nothin' that's good," said Miss Montaubyn. "We 're allus expectin' the other. Who isn't?
There was a small red fire in the grate, a strip of old, but gay carpet before it, two chairs and a table were covered with a harlequin patchwork made of bright odds and ends of all sizes and shapes. The fog in all its murky volume could not quite obscure the brightness of the often rubbed window and its harlequin curtain drawn across upon a string. "Bless yer," said Miss Montaubyn, "sit down."
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