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137
The Solitary Summer
·
Elizabeth Von Arnim
81
"The
gracious
lady
gives
it
up,"
I
muttered.
When
I
opened
the
next
door
I
was
bewildered
by
the
crowd
in
the
room.
A
woman
stood
in
the
middle
at
a
wash-tub
which
took
up
most
of
the
space.
Every
now
and
then
she
put
out
a
dripping
hand
and
jerked
a
perambulator
up
and
down
for
a
moment,
to
calm
the
shrieks
of
the
baby
inside.
On
a
wooden
bench
at
the
foot
of
one
of
the
three
beds
a
very
old
man
sat
and
blinked
at
nothing.
Crouching
in
a
corner
were
two
small
boys
of
pasty
complexion,
playing
with
a
guinea-pig
and
coughing
violently.
The
loveliest
little
girl
I
have
seen
for
a
very
long
while
lay
in
the
bed
nearest
the
door,
quite
silent,
with
her
eyes
closed
and
her
mouth
shut
tight,
as
though
she
were
trying
hard
to
bear
something.
As
I
pulled
the
door
open
the
first
thing
I
saw,
right
up
against
it,
was
this
set
young
face
framed
in
tossed
chestnut
hair.
"Why,
Frauchen,"
I
said
to
the
woman
at
the
tub,
"so
many
of
you
at
home
to-day?
Are
you
all
ill?"
There
was
hardly
standing
room
for
an
extra
person,
and
the
room
was
full
of
steam.
"They
have
all
got
the
cough
I
had,"
she
answered,
without
looking
up,
"and
Lotte
there
is
very
bad."
I
took
Lotte's
rough
little
hand--so
different
from
the
delicate
face--
and
found
she
was
in
a
fever.
"We
must
get
the
doctor,"
I
said.
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