I
can think of no one but father. Oh, Falk, it's been terrible these last
three days, and I don't know _what's_ going to happen.
I'll try and tell you how it's been. It's two months now since mother went
away. That night it was dreadful. He walked up and down his room all
night. Indeed he's been doing that ever since she went. And yet I don't
think it's of her that he's thinking most. I'm not sure even that he's
thinking of her at all.
He's concentrating everything now on the Pybus appointment. He talks to
himself. (You can see by that how changed he is.) He is hurrying round to
see people and asking them to the house, and he's so odd with them,
looking at them suddenly, suspiciously, as though he expected that they
were laughing at him. There's always something in the back of his mind--
not mother, I'm sure. Something happened to him that last day of the
Jubilee. He's always talking about some one who struck him, and he puts
his hand up to feel his forehead, where there was a bruise. He told me
that day that he had fallen down, but I'm sure now that he had a fight
with somebody.
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