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Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
244
“Let
him
alone,
mother,
do,”
cried
Katie,
wringing
her
hands.
“The
Duke,
he’s
drowned
himself,”
presently
gasped
the
Messenger.
Blank
verse,
yes,
so
far
as
it
went;
but
delivered
without
the
slightest
regard
for
rhythm,
and
composed
in
stark
defiance
of
those
laws
which
should
regulate
the
breaking
of
bad
news.
You,
please
remember,
were
carefully
prepared
by
me
against
the
shock
of
the
Duke’s
death;
and
yet
I
hear
you
still
mumbling
that
I
didn’t
let
the
actual
fact
be
told
you
by
a
Messenger.
Come,
do
you
really
think
your
grievance
against
me
is
for
a
moment
comparable
with
that
of
Mrs.
and
Miss
Batch
against
Clarence?
Did
you
feel
faint
at
any
moment
in
the
foregoing
chapter?
No.
But
Katie,
at
Clarence’s
first
words,
fainted
outright.
Think
a
little
more
about
this
poor
girl
senseless
on
the
floor,
and
a
little
less
about
your
own
paltry
discomfort.
Mrs.
Batch
herself
did
not
faint,
but
she
was
too
much
overwhelmed
to
notice
that
her
daughter
had
done
so.
“No!
Mercy
on
us!
Speak,
boy,
can’t
you?”
“The
river,”
gasped
Clarence.
“Threw
himself
in.
On
purpose.
I
was
on
the
towing-path.
Saw
him
do
it.”
Mrs.
Batch
gave
a
low
moan.
“Katie’s
fainted,”
added
the
Messenger,
not
without
a
touch
of
personal
pride.
“Saw
him
do
it,”
Mrs.
Batch
repeated
dully.
“Katie,”
she
said,
in
the
same
voice,
“get
up
this
instant.”
But
Katie
did
not
hear
her.
The
mother
was
loth
to
have
been
outdone
in
sensibility
by
the
daughter,
and
it
was
with
some
temper
that
she
hastened
to
make
the
necessary
ministrations.
Marker
Marker
Fine marker
White-out
Fine white-out
Circle
Paint
Unmarker
Hand
Scalpel
Dice
Sieve
Purify
Undo
Redo
Start over
