Part 20 (1/2)
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P-U-T-T-I-N-G.
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I-T.
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O-U-T.
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Lucy nodded gratefully, reaching out to meet the anxiety, the entreaty deep within her grandmother's blue eyes. Sensing the question that was trapped in Agnes' head she added, 'The college are being enormously helpful. They've told me to take a few weeks off. They're sure I can catch up.'
Agnes touched Lucy's arm, and then continued: I-F.
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V-I-C-T-O-R.
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A-P-P-E-A-R-S.
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I.
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M-U-S-T.
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S-E-E.
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H-I-M.
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B-E-F-O-R-E.
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I.
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D-I-E.
Lucy stroked her grandmother's shaking hand. Agnes couldn't point for long. Anguish pulled down the corners of her mouth.
'Gran, I think he's gone for good.'
Agnes shook her head.
H-E.
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W-I-L-L.
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T-U-R-N.
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U-P.
Lucy lifted her grandmother's hand again and smoothed the skin, as if to ease a deep bruise, the wound that still believed an old friend might yet turn up to redeem himself. So much of their relating had now been transferred to a meeting of hands. It replaced the voluntary. silence that had once been a communion. Lucy reached over and took the alphabet card. She had something to say that had never been said: I.
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L-O-V-E.
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Y-O-U.
The handle of the door turned and Wilma came in with the bowl of ice cubes, a saucer and a teaspoon.
The vestibule floor was dry and safe to walk upon when Lucy left. On the way out she walked past the front room. It was no longer used. Agnes had left it for ever. The piano, the television and the furniture stood waiting for joking removal men in white overalls.
2.
The morning after his return from Paris, Anselm went to the library to write some letters, mindful of Johnson's observation that a man should keep his friends.h.i.+ps in constant repair. He had just sealed an envelope when Father Bernard, the cellarer, put his head round the door. There was a telephone call for Anselm that had been transferred by Sylvester to the kitchen. There was no point in trying to get him to re-direct it. They both hurried down the stairs, habits flapping like wide streamers on a kite that refused to get off the ground.