Free electronic library

He opened it; the writing was in his mother's
hand, and was dated four months before his birth.
It was a confession, addressed to her husband, and
with two signatures.
Arthur's eyes travelled slowly down the page,
past the unsteady letters in which her name was
written, to the strong, familiar signature: "Lorenzo
Montanelli." For a moment he stared at
the writing; then, without a word, refolded the
paper and laid it down. James rose and took his
wife by the arm.
"There, Julia, that will do. Just go downstairs
now; it's late, and I want to talk a little business
with Arthur. It won't interest you."
She glanced up at her husband; then back at
Arthur, who was silently staring at the floor.
"He seems half stupid," she whispered.
When she had gathered up her train and left the
room, James carefully shut the door and went back
to his chair beside the table. Arthur sat as before,
perfectly motionless and silent.
"Arthur," James began in a milder tone, now
Julia was not there to hear, "I am very sorry that
this has come out.


Pages:
106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130