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Updated: June 18, 2025
Dr. Angus, among other things, sent her Kraill's Lendicott Trust Autumn lectures in the form of six little grey covered pamphlets. They were much coloured by recent inspiring German and American sex psychology. But she did not know that. She thought that they began, continued and ended in Kraill and, though she fell down in adoration before his uncanny wisdom, his cynicism made her miserable.
He's been or rather we've been bucking each other up." He coughed awkwardly. "Bucking each other up no end, old lady," he added, and ran his hand through his hair, making it wild, and rough. She smiled faintly with her lips. For another moment she could not snatch her eyes away from Kraill's. Then she said faintly: "It's all very well, Louis. You're always being sorry! Aren't you?"
Into it she read Kraill's voice, pictured his gesture, saw how his quick eyes would look friendly, interested, arresting as he talked. On the last page was a paragraph that someone had marked in pencil. In the margin was "J.R.K." written faintly. She read the paragraph hungrily. Evidently he had meant it as a message for her.
I kept thinking he'd have been alive to-day if he could have caught on to Kraill's philosophy. I feel small, Marcella. I honestly hadn't the brains, the knowledge, to do anything for your father. I talked to Kraill about it. He said something very kind and very queer about the socialization of knowledge.
That's when they get holes torn in them." He walked on for a few steps, and then turned to laugh into Marcella's puzzled face. "All of which, I'd like to point out, I take no credit for, Marcella. I got it out of Kraill's Edinburgh lectures that have just been published in book form." "I hate that way of talking," said Marcella abruptly. "I like Wullie's way best.
I hate the waste of people, you know. I hate that people should rot and die. I feel personally affronted when I think about your father, and some days I strongly suspect it's when my liver's out of order I worry about your young son. But by the time he's grown up maybe Kraill's socialization of knowledge will have begun." Marcella was having an argument with Mrs.
"I've left the rheumaticky old woman to a sort of patent rubbing oil very much in vogue just now, and I've resigned the coming babies to the midwife at Carlossie, and been to Kraill's Lendicott Trust lectures at Edinburgh. He seems, in my humble and very uninstructed opinion, to have gone very far since 'Questing Cells. The lectures were on sex psychology.
And next day you'll be whining about it. I've lost hope now. I'm tired, tired of to-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow." Kraill's eyes were on her. The echo of a cock that crowed outside a door in Jerusalem nineteen hundred years ago came to her and her eyes filled with tears. "Oh I'm so sorry! You asked me for my courage," she said to Kraill.
Kraill's eyes shone out of them for an instant, blue and impelling. She got a grip on herself and wrote, a word at a time, making each letter with proud precision: * I am sending you a letter I had from my husband to-day. Have you forgotten us, and that wonderful thing you did out in the Bush?
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