Chapter 8 Eight

Looking back and reading the story of the Strickland couple I wrote, I feel that these two people were too flesh and blood by me.To make the characters real and moving, they need to be written out of their character traits, and I have not given them any characteristics.I wondered if it was my fault, and I racked my brains, hoping to recall some traits that would make their characters distinctive.I felt that if I could write at length some of their habits of speech, or some of their strange manners, I might be able to distinguish them.As I am writing now, these two people seem to be two human figures on an old tapestry, and it is difficult to distinguish them from the background; if viewed from a distance, they cannot even distinguish their outlines, only a cluster of flowers remains. The green color is gone.I have only one excuse: that's the impression they made on me.Those whose lives are only part of a social organism, in which they can only live and by which they can only live, always seem illusory; this is what the Stricklands people.They are like the cells in the body, they are absolutely indispensable to the body, but as long as they exist healthy for one day, they will be swallowed up in a great whole.The Strickland family is an ordinary middle-class family.A genial, hospitable wife with a harmless penchant for the company of minor literary celebrities; , healthy child.There is nothing more ordinary than this family.I don't know of anything about this family that would attract the attention of the curious.

When I think of all the things that happened afterwards, I can't help asking myself: Was I too slow to see that Charles Strickland was different from ordinary people?Maybe so.So many years have passed since that time, during which time I have learned a lot about the world, but even if I have had the experience I have today when I first met the couple, I don't think I judge them. different.Only one thing will be different: after I have learned how inscrutable man is, I will never be so shocked by the news today as I was when I first returned to London in the early autumn. I had not been twenty-four hours back in London when I met Rose Waterford in Jermyn Street.

"Seeing how beaming you are today," I said, "what's the fun?" She laughed, and there was that schadenfreude twinkle in her eyes that I was already familiar with.It meant that she had heard of another scandal involving a friend of hers, the authoress' instincts already on high alert. "You saw Charles Strickland, didn't you?" Not only her face, but her whole body became very tense.I nodded.I wondered if the poor man had lost his fortune on the Stock Exchange, or had been run over by a bus. "You said, isn't it terrible? He threw his wife away and ran away."

Miss Waterford must have felt that telling the story on the curb of Jermyn Street was a disgrace to such a good subject, so she just threw out the subject like an artist, declaring she didn't know the details.And I couldn't bury her eloquence, thinking that circumstances that I didn't mind should prevent her from telling me stories.But she still stubbornly refused to speak. "I tell you I don't know anything," she said in answer to my excited question, and then, with a very playful shrug of her shoulders, added: "I'm sure there's a young girl working in a tea shop in London." resigned."

She smiled at me, apologized that she had made an appointment with the dentist, and walked away with great pomp.The news interested me more than it saddened me.In those days my experience was seldom first-hand, so I was very excited when I came across a story I had read in a book.I confess that time and experience have now accustomed me to encounter such things among my acquaintances.But I still had a sense of horror.Strickland must have been forty at that time, and I thought it repulsive for a man of his age to be involved in such a love affair.Thirty-five was the maximum age for a person to fall in love without making himself a laughing stock in the eyes of my ignorant, disdainful eyes.In addition, this news also caused me a little trouble personally.It turns out that I wrote to Mrs. Strickland in the country, telling her the date of my return to London, and saying that if she didn't reply and make other arrangements, I would come to her house on such and such a day. Go for tea.It was on this day that I met Miss Waterford, but Mrs. Strickland had no news for me.Does she want to see me?It is quite probable that, in the disturbance of her mind, she forgot the appointment which I had written in.Maybe I should be self-aware and not bother her.But, on the other hand, she might also be trying to keep it from me, and it would be indiscreet if I asked her to guess that she had heard this strange news.I was afraid of hurting the lady's feelings, and also afraid of going to her house as a guest to upset her, so I was very conflicted.I know she must be suffering at this time, and I don't want to see others suffer, and I can't share her worries; but on the other hand, I am very eager to see Mrs. Strickland's reaction to this matter, although I'm embarrassed by the idea myself.I really don't know what to do.

Finally I came up with an idea: I should go to her house as if nothing had happened, and first ask the maid to come in and ask if Mrs. Strickland is convenient for visiting.If she doesn't want to see me, she can send me away.Even so, I was terribly embarrassed when I told the servant girl what I had prepared in advance.It took all my courage not to slip away while I waited in the dark passage for an answer.The maid came out of it.It may also be that I was too excited and guessed wildly. From the look of the maid, it seemed that she was fully aware of the misfortune the family had encountered.

"Come with me, sir," she said. I followed her into the living room.The curtains were not fully drawn in order to dim the room.Colonel MacAndrew, Mrs. Strickland's brother-in-law, was standing in front of the hearth, roasting his back in front of the dead fire.I thought it was extremely embarrassing for me to barge in.I guess I must have been quite a surprise here, and Mrs. Strickland just forgot to have another appointment with me to have to let me in.I also thought the Colonel must be very angry at me for disturbing them. "I'm not sure if you were expecting me," I said, pretending to be nonchalant.

"Of course I'm waiting for you. Annie will bring the tea right away." In spite of the dimness of the room, I could see that Mrs. Strickland's eyes were swollen from crying.Her complexion was not very good in the first place, but now it has turned earthy gray. "You remember my brother-in-law? You met him the day you ate here, before the holiday." We shook hands.I felt uneasy and could not think of a good word to say.But Mrs. Strickland rescued me; she asked how I spent the summer.With her mentioning this, I somehow found something to say until the maid brought the tea.The colonel ordered a whiskey and soda.

"You'd better have a drink too, May," he said. "No, I'd rather drink tea." This is the first sentence that hints at an unfortunate event.I deliberately ignored it, and tried to chatter with Mrs. Strickland.The colonel still stood before the fireplace without saying a word.I wondered when I would be able to take good-bye to my host without breaking the decency, and wondered to myself what Mrs. Strickland had asked me to come in for.There were no flowers in the house, and some of the decorations that had been put away before the summer were not rearranged.The room, which was always comfortable and pleasant, seemed lonely and cold, giving people the feeling that there was a dead person parked on the other side of the wall.I finish my tea.

"Would you like a cigarette?" asked Mrs. Strickland. She looked around for a cigarette case, but couldn't find it. "I'm afraid it's gone." All of a sudden, her tears fell down, and she hurried out of the living room. I was taken aback.I thought of the fact that her husband used to buy the cigarettes, but now she suddenly found that she couldn't find the cigarettes. This little incident obviously aroused her memory, and the new feeling that she lost something that she could reach out seemed to be With a sudden stab in the chest, she realized that the old life was gone forever, that the former glory and decency could no longer be maintained.

"I think I should go," I said to the colonel, getting up. "I suppose you've heard about the hoodlum who dumped her," he burst out. I hesitated for a moment. "You know how people gossip," I said, "somebody told me in a evasive way that there's something wrong here." "He's gone. He's gone to Paris with a woman. He's left Amy without a penny." "I'm sorry," I said; I couldn't find anything else to say. The colonel downed the whiskey in one gulp.He was a tall, thin man of about fifty, with a drooping beard and graying hair.His eyes were light blue, and his lips were poorly defined.From the last time I saw him I remembered he had a goofy face and boasted that he played polo three times a week for ten years before he left the army. "I don't think I'll bother Mrs. Strickland any more now," said I; "will you please tell her how sorry I am for her? If there's anything I can do, I'll be of her service." .” He ignored my words. "I don't know what will happen to her in the future. And there are children. Are they going to live on air? Sixteen years!" "What sixteen years?" "They've been married sixteen years," he said grimly. "I never liked him. He's my brother-in-law, of course, and I put up with it as much as I can. Do you think he's a gentleman? She shouldn't have married him at all." "Is there no room for redemption?" "There's only one thing for her to do: divorce him. That's what I said to her when you first came in. 'Pass in the divorce papers, Amy dear,' I said, 'for yourself, for yours. That's what you should do, boy.' He'd better get out of my way. I don't wonder if I didn't beat him out of his head." I could not help thinking that Colonel MacAndrew had not done it very easily, for I was impressed by Strickland's strength, but I said nothing.It is a painful thing when a man is insulted and injured and has no power to punish the sinner directly.I was about to make another effort to take his leave when Mrs. Strickland came into the house again.She had wiped away her tears and powdered her nose. "I'm so sorry, my feelings are so fragile," she said, "I'm glad you didn't go." She sat down.I don't know what to say at all.I'm too embarrassed to talk about things that have nothing to do with me.I did not then understand that inescapable vice of women--an eagerness to discuss one's private affairs with anyone who would listen.Mrs. Strickland seemed to be making an effort to control herself. "Are people talking about it?" she asked.I was astounded that she took it for granted that I knew of her family's misfortune. "I've just come back. I saw Rose Waterford alone." Mrs. Strickland clapped her hands. "What did she say? Tell me exactly what she said." I hesitated a little, but she insisted on asking me to tell it. "I would especially like to know how she talks about it." "You know what people talk about. She's a no-brainer, isn't she? She said your husband dropped you." "Is that all you said?" I didn't want to tell her what Rose Waterford said about the tea maid when they parted.I lied to her. "Did she say that he went away with someone?" "No." "That's all I want to know." I'm a little confused, but anyway I know I can say goodbye now.When I shook hands with Mrs. Strickland I said to her that if there was anything I could do, I would do it for her.A smile flitted across her face. "Thank you very much. I don't know what anyone can do for me." Ashamed to express my sympathy to her, I turned and said good-bye to the Colonel.The colonel did not shake my hand. "I'm going too. If you go by Victoria Road, I'll go with you." "Okay," I said, "let's go together."