Laura with her chicken's mind could never
have thought it all out by herself. When asked what she meant, she was
smilingly vague, with a glance at Edith's youngsters. But she threw out
hints about the church and even Christianity, as though it were falling to
pieces. She spoke of a second Renaissance, "a glorious pagan era" coming.
And then she exploded a little bomb by inquiring of Edith.
"What do you think the girls over there are going to do for husbands, with
half the marriageable men either killed or hopelessly damaged? They're not
going to be nuns all their lives!"
Again her sister cut her off, and the rest of the brief evening was
decidedly awkward. Yes, she was changing, growing fast. And Roger did not
like it. Here she was spending money like water, absorbed in her pleasures,
having no baby, apparently at loose ends with her husband, and through it
all so cocksure of herself and her outrageous views about war, and smiling
about them with such an air, and in her whole manner, such a tone of amused
superiority. She talked about a world for the strong, bits of gabble from
Nietzsche and that sort of rot; she spoke blithely of a Rome reborn, the
"Wings of the Eagles" heard again. This part of it she had taken, no doubt,
from her new Italian friend, her husband's shrapnel partner.
Pshaw! What was Laura up to?
But that was only one evening. It was not repeated, another month went
quickly by, and Roger had soon shaken it from him, for he had troubles
enough at home.
Pages:
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263