The Forsyte Saga John Galsworthy (hot novels to read TXT) đ
- Author: John Galsworthy
Book online «The Forsyte Saga John Galsworthy (hot novels to read TXT) đ». Author John Galsworthy
Twisting his long, thin legs, James went on:
âJolyon, he will have his own way. Heâs got no childrenââ âand stopped, recollecting the continued existence of old Jolyonâs son, young Jolyon, Juneâs father, who had made such a mess of it, and done for himself by deserting his wife and child and running away with that foreign governess. âWell,â he resumed hastily, âif he likes to do these things, I sâpose he can afford to. Now, whatâs he going to give her? I sâpose heâll give her a thousand a year; heâs got nobody else to leave his money to.â
He stretched out his hand to meet that of a dapper, clean-shaven man, with hardly a hair on his head, a long, broken nose, full lips, and cold grey eyes under rectangular brows.
âWell, Nick,â he muttered, âhow are you?â
Nicholas Forsyte, with his birdlike rapidity and the look of a preternaturally sage schoolboy (he had made a large fortune, quite legitimately, out of the companies of which he was a director), placed within that cold palm the tips of his still colder fingers and hastily withdrew them.
âIâm bad,â he said, poutingâ ââbeen bad all the week; donât sleep at night. The doctor canât tell why. Heâs a clever fellow, or I shouldnât have him, but I get nothing out of him but bills.â
âDoctors!â said James, coming down sharp on his words: âIâve had all the doctors in London for one or another of us. Thereâs no satisfaction to be got out of them; theyâll tell you anything. Thereâs Swithin, now. What good have they done him? There he is; heâs bigger than ever; heâs enormous; they canât get his weight down. Look at him!â
Swithin Forsyte, tall, square, and broad, with a chest like a pouter pigeonâs in its plumage of bright waistcoats, came strutting towards them.
âErâ âhow are you?â he said in his dandified way, aspirating the h strongly (this difficult letter was almost absolutely safe in his keeping)â ââhow are you?â
Each brother wore an air of aggravation as he looked at the other two, knowing by experience that they would try to eclipse his ailments.
âWe were just saying,â said James, âthat you donât get any thinner.â
Swithin protruded his pale round eyes with the effort of hearing.
âThinner? Iâm in good case,â he said, leaning a little forward, ânot one of your thread-papers like you!â
But, afraid of losing the expansion of his chest, he leaned back again into a state of immobility, for he prized nothing so highly as a distinguished appearance.
Aunt Ann turned her old eyes from one to the other. Indulgent and severe was her look. In turn the three brothers looked at Ann. She was getting shaky. Wonderful woman! Eighty-six if a day; might live another ten years, and had never been strong. Swithin and James, the twins, were only seventy-five, Nicholas a mere baby of seventy or so. All were strong, and the inference was comforting. Of all forms of property their respective healths naturally concerned them most.
âIâm very well in myself,â proceeded James, âbut my nerves are out of order. The least thing worries me to death. I shall have to go to Bath.â
âBath!â said Nicholas. âIâve tried Harrogate. Thatâs no good. What I want is sea air. Thereâs nothing like Yarmouth. Now, when I go there I sleep.â ââ âŠâ
âMy liverâs very bad,â interrupted Swithin slowly. âDreadful pain here;â and he placed his hand on his right side.
âWant of exercise,â muttered James, his eyes on the china. He quickly added: âI get a pain there, too.â
Swithin reddened, a resemblance to a turkey-cock coming upon his old face.
âExercise!â he said. âI take plenty: I never use the lift at the Club.â
âI didnât know,â James hurried out. âI know nothing about anybody; nobody tells me anything.â ââ âŠâ
Swithin fixed him with a stare:
âWhat do you do for a pain there?â
James brightened.
âI take a compoundâ ââ
âHow are you, uncle?â
June stood before him, her resolute small face raised from her little height to his great height, and her hand outheld.
The brightness faded from Jamesâs visage.
âHow are you?â he said, brooding over her. âSo youâre going to Wales tomorrow to visit your young manâs aunts? Youâll have a lot of rain there. This isnât real old Worcester.â He tapped the bowl. âNow, that set I gave your mother when she married was the genuine thing.â
June shook hands one by one with her three great-uncles, and turned to Aunt Ann. A very sweet look had come into the old ladyâs face; she kissed the girlâs check with trembling fervour.
âWell, my dear,â she said, âand so youâre going for a whole month!â
The girl passed on, and Aunt Ann looked after her slim little figure. The old ladyâs round, steel grey eyes, over which a film like a birdâs was beginning to come, followed her wistfully amongst the bustling crowd, for people were beginning to say goodbye; and her fingertips, pressing and pressing against each other, were busy again with the recharging of her will against that inevitable ultimate departure of her own.
âYes,â she thought, âeverybodyâs been most kind; quite a lot of people come to congratulate her. She ought to be very happy.â Amongst the throng of people by the door, the well-dressed throng drawn from the families of lawyers and doctors, from the Stock Exchange, and all the innumerable avocations of the upper-middle classâ âthere were only some twenty percent of Forsytes; but to Aunt Ann they seemed all Forsytesâ âand certainly there was not much differenceâ âshe saw only her own flesh and blood. It was her world, this family, and she knew no other, had never perhaps known any other. All their little secrets, illnesses, engagements, and marriages, how they were getting on, and whether they were making moneyâ âall this was her property, her delight, her life; beyond this only a vague, shadowy mist of facts and
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