| |||||
|
Seventeen
RICHARD ERSKINE
I
Anstell Manor had a bleak aspect. It was a white house, set against a back-
ground of bleak hills. A winding drive led up through dense shrubbery.
Giles said to Gwenda, “Why have we come? What can we possibly say?”
“We’ve got it worked out.”
“Yes—so far as that goes. It’s lucky that Miss Marple’s cousin’s sister’s
aunt’s brother-in-law or whatever it was lives near here … But it’s a far
step from a social call to asking your host about his bygone love affairs.”
“And such a long time ago. Perhaps—perhaps he doesn’t even remem-
ber her.”
“Perhaps he doesn’t. And perhaps there never was a love affair.”
“Giles, are we making unutterable fools of ourselves?”
“I don’t know … Sometimes I feel that. I don’t see why we’re concerning
ourselves with all this. What does it matter now?”
“So long after … Yes, I know … Miss Marple and Dr. Kennedy both said,
“Leave it alone.” Why don’t we, Giles? What makes us go on? Is it her?”
“Her?”
“Helen. Is that why I remember? Is my childish memory the only link
she’s got with life—with truth? Is it Helen who’s using me—and you—so
that the truth will be known?”
“You mean, because she died a violent death—?”
“Yes. They say—books say—that sometimes they can’t rest….”
“I think you’re being fanciful, Gwenda.”
“Perhaps I am. Anyway, we can — choose. This is only a social call.
There’s no need for it to be anything more—unless we want it to be—”
Giles shook his head.
“We shall go on. We can’t help ourselves.”
“Yes—you’re right. All the same, Giles, I think I’m rather frightened—”
|
|||||
- 发表评论
-
- 最新评论 进入详细评论页>>
