The Golden Bowl Henry James (spicy books to read txt) đ
- Author: Henry James
Book online «The Golden Bowl Henry James (spicy books to read txt) đ». Author Henry James
âDonât you really want us to goâ â?â
Maggie found a faint smile. âDo you really want toâ â?â
It made her friend colour. âWell thenâ âno. But we would, you know, at a look from you. Weâd pack up and be offâ âas a sacrifice.â
âAh, make no sacrifice,â said Maggie. âSee me through.â
âThatâs itâ âthatâs all I want. I should be too baseâ â! Besides,â Fanny went on, âyouâre too splendid.â
âSplendid?â
âSplendid. Also, you know, you are all but âthrough.â Youâve done it,â said Mrs. Assingham. But Maggie only half took it from her.
âWhat does it strike you that Iâve done?â
âWhat you wanted. Theyâre going.â
Maggie continued to look at her. âIs that what I wanted?â
âOh, it wasnât for you to say. That was his business.â
âMy fatherâs?â Maggie asked after an hesitation.
âYour fatherâs. He has chosenâ âand now she knows. She sees it all before herâ âand she canât speak, or resist, or move a little finger. Thatâs whatâs the matter with her,â said Fanny Assingham.
It made a picture, somehow, for the Princess, as they stood thereâ âthe picture that the words of others, whatever they might be, always made for her, even when her vision was already charged, better than any words of her own. She saw, round about her, through the chinks of the shutters, the hard glare of natureâ âsaw Charlotte, somewhere in it, virtually at bay, and yet denied the last grace of any protecting truth. She saw her off somewhere all unaided, pale in her silence and taking in her fate. âHas she told you?â she then asked.
Her companion smiled superior. âI donât need to be toldâ âeither! I see something, thank God, every day.â And then as Maggie might appear to be wondering what, for instance: âI see the long miles of ocean and the dreadful great country, State after Stateâ âwhich have never seemed to me so big or so terrible. I see them at last, day by day and step by step, at the far endâ âand I see them never come back. But neverâ âsimply. I see the extraordinary âinterestingâ placeâ âwhich Iâve never been to, you know, and you haveâ âand the exact degree in which she will be expected to be interested.â
âShe will be,â Maggie presently replied. âExpected?â
âInterested.â
For a little, after this, their eyes met on it; at the end of which Fanny said: âSheâll beâ âyesâ âwhat sheâll have to be. And it will beâ âwonât it? for ever and ever.â She spoke as abounding in her friendâs sense, but it made Maggie still only look at her.
These were large words and large visionsâ âall the more that now, really, they spread and spread. In the midst of them, however, Mrs. Assingham had soon enough continued. âWhen I talk of âknowing,â indeed, I donât mean it as you would have a right to do. You know because you seeâ âand I donât see him. I donât make him out,â she almost crudely confessed.
Maggie again hesitated. âYou mean you donât make out Amerigo?â
But Fanny shook her head, and it was quite as if, as an appeal to oneâs intelligence, the making out of Amerigo had, in spite of everything, long been superseded. Then Maggie measured the reach of her allusion, and how what she next said gave her meaning a richness. No other name was to be spoken, and Mrs. Assingham had taken that, without delay, from her eyesâ âwith a discretion, still, that fell short but by an inch. âYou know how he feels.â
Maggie at this then slowly matched her headshake. âI know nothing.â
âYou know how you feel.â
But again she denied it. âI know nothing. If I didâ â!â
âWell, if you did?â Fanny asked as she faltered.
She had had enough, however. âI should die,â she said as she turned away.
She went to her room, through the quiet house; she roamed there a moment, picking up, pointlessly, a different fan, and then took her way to the shaded apartments in which, at this hour, the Principino would be enjoying his nap. She passed through the first empty room, the day nursery, and paused at an open door. The inner room, large, dim and cool, was equally calm; her boyâs ample, antique, historical, royal crib, consecrated, reputedly, by the guarded rest of heirs-apparent, and a gift, early in his career, from his grandfather, ruled the scene from the centre, in the stillness of which she could almost hear the childâs soft breathing. The prime protector of his dreams was installed beside him; her father sat there with as little motionâ âwith head thrown back and supported, with eyes apparently closed, with the fine foot that was so apt to betray nervousness at peace upon the other knee, with the unfathomable heart folded in the constant flawless freshness of the white waistcoat that could always receive in its armholes the firm prehensile thumbs. Mrs. Noble had majestically melted, and the whole place signed her temporary abdication; yet the actual situation was regular, and Maggie lingered but to look. She looked over her fan, the top of which was pressed against her face, long enough to wonder if her father really slept or if, aware of her, he only kept consciously quiet. Did his eyes truly fix her between lids partly open, and was she to take thisâ âhis forebearance from any questionâ âonly as a sign again that everything was left
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