Judith
his wife had placed it there.
From his bed through the window close beside him he looked up at the
cliff-like wall of the new apartment building, with tier upon tier of
windows from which murmurous voices dropped out of the dark: now soft, now
suddenly angry, loud; now droning, sullen, bitter, hard; now gay with
little screams of mirth; now low and amorous, drowsy sounds. Tier upon tier
of modern homes, all overhanging Roger's house as though presently to crush
it down.
But Roger was not thinking of that. He was thinking of his children--of
Edith's approaching confinement and all her anxious hunting about to find
what was best for her family, of Bruce and the way he was driving himself
in the unnatural world downtown where men were at each other's throats, of
Deborah and that school of hers in the heart of a vast foul region of
tenement buildings swarming with strange, dirty little urchins. And last he
thought of Laura, his youngest daughter, wild as a hawk, gadding about the
Lord knew where. She even danced in restaurants! Through his children he
felt flowing into his house the seething life of this new town. And
drowsily he told himself he must make a real effort, and make it soon, to
know his family better. For in spite of the storm of long ago which had
swept away his faith in God, the feeling had come to him of late that
somewhere, in some manner, he was to meet his wife again.
Pages:
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33