and here is the near end of the unfortunates (a very beautiful novel in pieces):
it was obvious to me that even if he was still there the following week, he would be less able to talk, at the rate he was deteriorating, disintegrating, so the last thing i said to him, all i had to give him, alone with him, with my coat on, about to go, the car waiting outside to run us to the station, staring down at him, facing those eyes, he staring back all the time now, it must have been a great effort for him, yes, and i said, it was all i had, what else could i do, i said, i'll get it all down, mate. it'll be very little, he said, after a while, slowly, still those eyes. that's all anyone has done, very little, i said.
No comments:
Post a Comment