Читать книгу The inner house - Walter Besant - Страница 4

When the girl Christine walked through the loitering crowd outside the Hall, some of the people looked after her with wondering eyes.

"Strange!" said a woman. "She laughed! She laughed!"

"Ay," said another, "we have forgotten how to laugh. But we used to laugh before" – she broke off with a sigh.

"And she sings," said a third. "I have heard her sing like a lark in the Museum."

"Once," said the first woman, "we used to sing as well as laugh. I remember, we used to sing. She makes us remember the old days."

"The bad old days" – it was one of the Assistant Physicians who admonished her – "the times when nothing was certain, not even life, from day to day. It should bring you increased happiness to think sometimes of those old times."

The first woman who had spoken was one whom men would have called beautiful in those old times, when their heads were turned by such a thing as a woman's face. She was pale of cheek and had black eyes, which, in those days of passion and jealousy, might have flashed like lightning. Now they were dull. She was shapely of limb and figure too, with an ample cheek and a full mouth. Formerly, in the days of love and rage, those limbs would have been lithe and active; now they were heavy and slow. Heaviness of movement and of eyes sensibly grows upon our people. I welcome every indication of advance towards the Perfect Type of Humanity which will do nothing but lie down, breathe, eat, and sleep.