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349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
164
After
conscientiously
carrying
out
her
programme
but
with
the
distracted,
uncomfortable
air
of
some
one
scurrying
over
a
painful
task--like
a
tired
child
gabbling
its
prayers
before
getting
into
bed--she
at
length
produced
from
her
skirt
pocket
a
small
canvas
money
bag
which
she
started
to
hand
around.
This
was
the
climax
to
this
harrowing
incident--for
each
time
she
held
out
the
bag,
she
smiled,
which
stretched
the
skin
still
more
tightly
down
over
her
malar
prominence
and
said
something--an
inarticulate
noise
in
a
very
high
pitch.
"A
woman,"
I
whispered
to
R----,
"She
claims
to
be
a
woman."
If
any
one
hesitated
a
moment
or
struggled
with
a
purse
she
would
wait
patiently
with
bag
outstretched
and
head
turned
away,
the
smile
vanishing
at
once
as
if
the
pinched
face
were
but
too
glad
of
the
opportunity
of
a
rest
from
smiling.
She
stood
there,
gazing
absently--two
lifeless
eyes
at
the
bottom
of
deep
socket
holes
in
a
head
which
was
almost
a
bare
skull.
She
was
perfunctorily
carrying
out
an
objectionable
task
because
she
could
not
kill
the
will
to
live.
As
she
looked
away
and
waited
for
you
to
produce
the
copper,
she
thought,
"Why
trouble?
Why
should
I
wait
for
this
man's
aid?"
The
clink
of
the
penny
recalled
her
to
herself,
and
she
passed
on,
renewing
her
terrible
grimacing
smile.
Why
didn't
I
do
something?
Why?
Because
I
was
bent
on
hearing
Beethoven's
Fifth
Symphony,
if
you
please....
And
she
may
have
been
a
well-to-do
vagrant--well
got
up
for
the
occasion--a
clever
simulator?...
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