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- Колин Маккалоу
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- Стр. 508/535
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He
did
n't
fold
the
note
and
put
it
in
his
wallet
,
or
burn
it
;
he
did
what
he
did
with
all
mail
not
requiring
an
answer
--
ran
it
through
the
electric
shredder
fixed
to
his
wastebasket
the
minute
he
had
finished
reading
it
.
Thinking
to
himself
that
Dane
's
death
had
effectively
put
an
end
to
Justine
's
emotional
awakening
,
and
bitterly
unhappy
.
It
was
n't
fair
.
He
had
waited
so
long
.
At
the
weekend
he
flew
to
London
anyway
but
not
to
see
her
,
though
he
did
see
her
.
On
the
stage
,
as
the
Moor
's
beloved
wife
,
Desdemona
.
Formidable
.
There
was
nothing
he
could
do
for
her
the
stage
could
n't
,
not
for
a
while
.
That
's
my
good
girl
!
Pour
it
all
out
on
the
stage
.
*
*
*
Only
she
could
n't
pour
it
all
out
on
the
stage
,
for
she
was
too
young
to
play
Hecuba
.
The
stage
was
simply
the
one
place
offering
peace
and
forgetfulness
.
She
could
only
tell
herself
:
Time
heals
all
wounds
--
while
not
believing
it
.
Asking
herself
why
it
should
go
on
hurting
so
.
When
Dane
was
alive
she
had
n't
really
thought
very
much
about
him
except
when
she
was
with
him
,
and
after
they
were
grown
up
their
time
together
had
been
limited
,
their
vocations
almost
opposed
.
But
his
going
had
created
a
gap
so
huge
she
despaired
of
ever
filling
it
.
The
shock
of
having
to
pull
herself
up
in
the
midst
of
a
spontaneous
reaction
--
I
must
remember
to
tell
Dane
about
this
,
he
'll
get
such
a
kick
out
of
it
--
that
was
what
hurt
the
most
.
And
because
it
kept
on
occurring
so
often
,
it
prolonged
the
grief
.
Had
the
circumstances
surrounding
his
death
been
less
horrifying
she
might
have
recovered
more
quickly
,
but
the
nightmare
events
of
those
few
days
remained
vivid
.
She
missed
him
unbearably
;
her
mind
would
return
again
and
again
to
the
incredible
fact
of
Dane
dead
,
Dane
who
would
never
come
back
.
Then
there
was
the
conviction
that
she
had
n't
helped
him
enough
.
Everyone
save
her
seemed
to
think
he
was
perfect
,
did
n't
experience
the
troubles
other
men
did
,
but
Justine
knew
he
had
been
plagued
by
doubts
,
had
tormented
himself
with
his
own
unworthiness
,
had
wondered
what
people
could
see
in
him
beyond
the
face
and
the
body
.
Poor
Dane
,
who
never
seemed
to
understand
that
people
loved
his
goodness
.
Terrible
to
remember
it
was
too
late
to
help
him
now
.
She
also
grieved
for
her
mother
.
If
his
dying
could
do
this
to
her
,
what
must
it
have
done
to
Mum
?
The
thought
made
her
want
to
run
screaming
and
crying
from
memory
,
consciousness
.
The
picture
of
the
Unks
in
Rome
for
his
ordination
,
puffing
out
their
proud
chests
like
pouter
pigeons
.
That
was
the
worst
of
all
,
visualizing
the
empty
desolation
of
her
mother
and
the
other
Drogheda
people
.
Be
honest
,
Justine
.
Was
this
honestly
the
worst
?
Was
n't
there
something
far
more
disturbing
?
She
could
n't
push
the
thought
of
Rain
away
,
or
what
she
felt
as
her
betrayal
of
Dane
.
To
gratify
her
own
desires
she
had
sent
Dane
to
Greece
alone
,
when
to
have
gone
with
him
might
have
meant
life
for
him
.
There
was
no
other
way
to
see
it
.
Dane
had
died
because
of
her
selfish
absorption
in
Rain
.
Too
late
now
to
bring
her
brother
back
,
but
if
in
never
seeing
Rain
again
she
could
somehow
atone
,
the
hunger
and
the
loneliness
would
be
well
worth
it
.
So
the
weeks
went
by
,
and
then
the
months
.
A
year
,
two
years
.
Desdemona
,
Ophelia
,
Portia
,
Cleopatra
.
From
the
very
beginning
she
flattered
herself
she
behaved
outwardly
as
if
nothing
had
happened
to
ruin
her
world
;
she
took
exquisite
care
in
speaking
,
laughing
,
relating
to
people
quite
normally
.
If
there
was
a
change
,
it
was
in
that
she
was
kinder
than
of
yore
,
for
people
's
griefs
tended
to
affect
her
as
if
they
were
her
own
.
But
,
all
told
,
she
was
the
same
outward
Justine
--
flippant
,
exuberant
,
brash
,
detached
,
acerbic
.
