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290
Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
248
Mrs.
Batch
had
risen
from
her
chair,
the
better
to
cope
with
such
magnitude.
She
stood
with
wide-spread
arms,
silent,
gaping.
She
seemed,
by
sheer
force
of
sympathy,
to
be
expanding
to
the
dimensions
of
a
crowd.
Intensive
Katie
recked
little
of
all
these
other
deaths.
“I
only
know,”
she
said,
“that
he
hated
her.”
“Hundreds
and
hundreds--ALL,”
intoned
Mrs.
Batch,
then
gave
a
sudden
start,
as
having
remembered
something.
Mr.
Noaks!
He,
too!
She
staggered
to
the
door,
leaving
her
actual
offspring
to
their
own
devices,
and
went
heavily
up
the
stairs,
her
mind
scampering
again
before
her....
If
he
was
safe
and
sound,
dear
young
gentleman,
heaven
be
praised!
and
she
would
break
the
awful
news
to
him,
very
gradually.
If
not,
there
was
another
“family”
to
be
solaced;
“I’m
a
mother
myself,
Mrs.
Noaks”...
The
sitting-room
door
was
closed.
Twice
did
Mrs.
Batch
tap
on
the
panel,
receiving
no
answer.
She
went
in,
gazed
around
in
the
dimness,
sighed
deeply,
and
struck
a
match.
Conspicuous
on
the
table
lay
a
piece
of
paper.
She
bent
to
examine
it.
A
piece
of
lined
paper,
torn
from
an
exercise
book,
it
was
neatly
inscribed
with
the
words
“What
is
Life
without
Love?”
The
final
word
and
the
note
of
interrogation
were
somewhat
blurred,
as
by
a
tear.
The
match
had
burnt
itself
out.
The
landlady
lit
another,
and
read
the
legend
a
second
time,
that
she
might
take
in
the
full
pathos
of
it.
Then
she
sat
down
in
the
arm-chair.
For
some
minutes
she
wept
there.
Then,
having
no
more,
tears,
she
went
out
on
tip-toe,
closing
the
door
very
quietly.
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