The pages of _The Times_ grew semi-transparent, and G.J. descried
Concepcion moving mysteriously in a mist behind them. Only then did he
begin effectively to realise her experiences and her achievement and
her ordeal on the distant, romantic Clyde. He said to himself: "I
could never have stood what she has stood." She was a terrific
woman; but because she was such a mixture of the mad-heroic and the
silly-foolish, he rather condescended to her. She lacked what he was
sure he possessed, and what he prized beyond everything--poise. And
had she truly had a nervous breakdown, or was that fancy? Did she
truly despair of herself as a ruined woman, doubly ruined, or was
she acting a part, as much in order to impress herself as in order to
impress others? He thought the country and particularly its Press,
was somewhat like Concepcion as a complex. He condescended to Queenie
also, not bitterly, but with sardonic pity. There she was, unalterable
by any war, instinctively and ruthlessly working out her soul and her
destiny. The country was somewhat like Queenie too. But, of course,
comparison between Queenie and Concepcion was absurd. He had had to
defend himself to Concepcion. And had he not defended himself?
True, he had begun perhaps too slowly to work for the war; however,
he had begun.
Pages:
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223