Chapter 19 nineteen

After about six months, the uproar over "The Encounter of Life" had subsided, and Driffield began another novel, which was later published under the title "The Fruit of Their Harvest."I was a fourth year medical student working as a surgeon's assistant on the ward.One day when I was on duty, I had to accompany a surgeon to check the ward, so I went to the hospital lobby to wait for the doctor.I glanced at the shelf where the letters were kept, because sometimes people send letters to the hospital without knowing my address in Vincent Square.On this day, I was surprised to find a telegram sent to me, which read as follows:

Please be sure to come to me at five o'clock this afternoon.There is something important to discuss. Isabel.trafford I don't know what will happen to her looking for me. In the past two years, I have seen her more than ten times, but she has never paid attention to me, and I have never been to her house.I know that there is often a shortage of gentlemen at tea parties, and that the hostess, when she at last finds out that there are not enough, may feel that a young medical student is better than nothing; but the wording of the telegram does not seem like an invitation Attend a tea party.

The surgeon to whom I assisted was dull and verbose.I wasn't done until after five; it took another twenty minutes to get from the hospital to Chelsea.Barton.It was nearly six o'clock when I arrived at Mrs Trafford's flat on the Thames Embankment.I rang the doorbell and asked if she was home.I was ushered into the living room and began to explain to her why I was late, but she immediately interrupted me: We figured you were stuck with something.It doesn't matter. Her husband is also present. I think he'd love a cup of tea.He said. Oh, but it's rather late for tea now, isn't it?She looked at me kindly, with a kindness and friendliness in her soft, good-looking eyes.You don't want to drink tea, do you?

I was thirsty and hungry, and for lunch I had a buttery scone and a cup of coffee, but I didn't want to tell them.I said I didn't want to drink tea. You know Allgood.Newton?Barton.asked Mrs Trafford, pointing to one.The man was sitting in a wide armchair when I entered, when he stood up.I think you saw him at Edward's house. I have seen him.He didn't go to the Driffields very often, but his name sounded familiar, and I remembered him.He made me nervous, and I probably never talked to him.Although he is completely forgotten today, at the time he was the most famous critic in England.He was a tall, fat, blond man, with a full, fair face and pale blue eyes, and his blond hair was graying.He usually wears a light blue tie to bring out the color of his eyes.He was very friendly to the writers he met at Driffield's, and paid them some sweet compliments.But as soon as they were gone, he made fun of them.He spoke in a low, steady, well-chosen voice, and no one could tell a sinister story about his friend with such precision.

Allgood.Newton shook hands with me; BartonMrs. Trafford, with all her ready tenderness, was eager to reassure me, and took me by the hand to sit down on the sofa beside her.Before the tea was cleared from the table, she picked up a jam sandwich and bit into it gracefully. Have you seen the Driffields lately?she asked, as if she was just trying to find something to talk about. I was at their house last Saturday. You haven't seen them both since then, have you? No. Barton.Mrs. Trafford looked at Allgood.Newton, looked at her husband again, and then turned to look at Newton, as if silently asking for their help.

Stop beating around the bush, Isabel, Newton said, with his chubby, exacting air, blinking maliciously. Barton.Mrs Trafford turned to me. Then you don't know that Mrs. Driffield has run away from her husband. What! I was taken aback and couldn't believe my ears. Maybe it's better for you to tell him what happened, Allgood.said Mrs Trafford. The critic leaned back in his chair, put the fingertips of one hand against those of the other, and began to speak with gusto. Last night, I needed to see Edward.Driffield, tell me about a literary review I wrote for him.After dinner the weather was fine and I thought of wandering over to his house.He was waiting for me at home, and I knew he never went out at night unless there was an important event like the Mayor of London or a Royal Academy dinner.So you can imagine my astonishment when I came up to his place and suddenly saw the door open and Edward himself come out, no, I was just utterly stunned.You must know Emmanuel.Kant [Note: German philosopher. ], he used to go out for a walk at a certain time every day, and there was never a moment of deviation. Therefore, the residents of Koenig Mountain are used to checking their watches when Kant goes out for a walk every day.One day he came out of the house an hour earlier than usual, and the faces of the local residents turned pale. They knew that something terrible must have happened, and they guessed right; Emmanuel.Kant had just received word that the Bastille had fallen.

Allgood.Newton paused for a moment to heighten the effect of his little story.Barton.Mrs Trafford smiled knowingly at him. When I saw Edward hurrying towards me I did not think that such a world-shattering disaster had occurred, but I felt at once that something unfortunate had happened.He carried neither cane nor gloves, but was still in overalls, an old black alpaca overcoat, and a wide-brimmed felt hat.He was manic and disturbed.Knowing the vicissitudes of marital status, I wondered if he had left the house in a hurry because of a quarrel between husband and wife;He is like Hector, the most suave hero in Greek epics [Note: The hero in the Trojan War in Greek mythology, who was later killed by Achilles. ] Walking forward like a gust of wind.He didn't seem to see me, and I suddenly suspected that he didn't want to see me then.I stopped him.Edward, I said.He seemed startled.I'm sure for a moment he didn't recognize me at all.What vengeful rage drove you so hastily through the fashionable quarters of Pimlico?I asked.Oh, it turned out to be you.He said.where are you goingI asked.Not going anywhere.he replied.

At this pace, I think Allgood.Newton could never finish his story, and my landlady, Mrs. Hudson, would be very annoyed with me if I was half an hour late for dinner. I told him my purpose, and proposed that we go back to his house, where he might more conveniently discuss the problems which troubled me.I couldn't calm down at all and didn't want to go back. He said, let's take a walk and talk while walking.I agreed with him, and turned and walked forward with him; but he walked so fast that I was obliged to ask him to slow down.Even Dr. Johnson [Note: British writer, critic, lexicographer. ] also couldn't walk down Fleet Street at a particularly fast pace and talk to people.Edward was so queer, and so excited in his manner, that I thought it best to take him out into the deserted street.I talked to him about the article I was going to write.The subject I am conceiving is much richer than it first appears, and I am not sure that it is possible to get the point across in a weekly column.I explained the whole issue to him fully and clearly and asked for his opinion.Rossi left me.he replied.I didn't know for a moment what he was talking about, but I knew right away that he was talking about the buxom, not unattractive woman who sometimes handed me my tea.From the tone of his voice, I could see that he expected me to give him some comfort instead of congratulating him.

Allgood.Newton paused for another moment, his blue eyes sparkling. You're good, Allgood.Barton.said Mrs Trafford. wonderful.her husband said. I understand that he needs sympathy at a time like this, so I said, good friend.But he cut me off.I just got a letter by the last post saying, she and George.Lord Kemp elopes. I couldn't help but gasped, but didn't say a word.Mrs Trafford gave me a quick look. George.Who is Lord Kemp!He is from the town of Heishan.he replied.I had no time to think about it, and decided to speak frankly to him about my opinion, and it was a good thing you got rid of her.I said.Allgood!he shouted.I stopped and grabbed his arm with one hand.You should know that she and all those friends of yours have been cheating on you.Her behavior has long caused gossip in the society.Dear Edward, let's face it: your wife is just an ordinary slut.He jerked his arm out of my grasp, and let out a low growl in his throat, like an orangutan in the forest of Borneo who has been robbed of a coconut.Before I could stop him, he got away and ran away.I was so scared that I didn't know what to do. I could only listen to his roar and his hurried footsteps.

You shouldn't have let him go, Patton.Mrs. Trafford said that in the state of his mind he might have jumped into the Thames. I thought of this, but I found that he was not running in the direction of the river, but into the lesser streets of the neighborhood which we had just passed.Besides, I think that in the history of literature, no writer has committed suicide while he was writing a literary work.No matter what hardships he encountered, he was unwilling to leave an unfinished work to future generations. I was taken aback by all this, and felt very resentful and depressed; but I was also a little apprehensive, and wondered why Mrs Trafford should have brought me here.She knew nothing about me to think that this news meant anything special to me; nor would she have sent me here just to hear it as a piece of news.

Poor Edward, she said, of course no one can deny that it was a blessing in disguise.But I'm afraid he will be very upset.Fortunately, he didn't do anything reckless.Then she turned her face to me.As soon as Mr. Newton informed us of the matter, I hurried to Lynpass Road.Edward was not at home, but the maid said he had just left.This means that he had returned home between the time he ran away from Allgood and this morning.You must be wondering why I asked you to come see me. I didn't answer and waited for her to continue. You first met the Driffields in Black Tavern, didn't you?You can tell us about this George.Who exactly is Lord Kemp.Edward said he was from there. He is a middle-aged man with a wife and two sons.His son is around my age. But I don't know who he is.I can't find it in Who's Who or Debrett's Almanac of Nobility. I almost laughed out loud. Oh, and he wasn't really a Lord, just a local coal merchant.In Blackham they called him Lord George only because he always looked very handsome.That was just a joke. The morals of country humor can often seem a bit elusive to outsiders.Allgood.Newton said. We must all do what we can to help dear Edward.Barton.said Mrs Trafford.Her eyes fell on me thoughtfully.If Kemp and Rossi.Driffield eloped together, so he must have left his wife. It seems so.I answered. can you do me a favor As long as I can help, of course. Could you go down to Black Tavern and find out what's going on?I think we should get in touch with his wife. I never liked to meddle in other people's private affairs. I don't know how to get in touch with her.I answered. Can't you visit her once? No, I can't see her. Even Barton.Mrs Trafford thought my answer was rude at the time, and she didn't show it.She just smiled slightly. In any case, the matter can be left for a later date.The most important thing now is to go there once and find out how Kemp is.I'm going to try to see Edward tonight.I couldn't bear the thought of him being left alone in that loathsome house.Barton and I have decided to have him with us.We have a room vacant, and I'll make arrangements for him to work in that room.Do you think that suits him best, Allgood? Of course it couldn't be more appropriate. There's no reason why he shouldn't stay with us for a long time, at least a few weeks, and then he can go out with us in the summer.We are going to Brittany [Note: A region in northwestern France. 】.I'm sure he'd love to go.He can completely change the environment. The current problem is, Barton.said Trafford, looking at me almost as amiably as his wife's, and would the young surgeon care to go down to Black Shed to find out once more.We must understand the situation we are facing.This is crucial. Barton.Trafford speaks earnestly, wittily, even vulgarly, as if to justify his interest in archaeology. There was no way he could refuse.said his wife, giving me a soft, pleading look.You won't refuse, will you?This matter is too important and you are the only one who can help us. She didn't know, of course, that I was just as anxious to find out what was going on as she was; she didn't know what a violent jealousy I was going through. I probably won't be able to leave the hospital until Saturday.I said. That can.You are very kind, and all Edward's friends will be grateful to you.When will you come back? I have to be back early Monday morning. Then you can come to my place for tea in the afternoon.I eagerly await your return.Thank God, everything is arranged.Now I have to try to find Edward. I know it's time for me to go.Allgood.Newton got up to say goodbye too, and we went downstairs together. Our Isabelle has un petit air today [Note: French, kind of like. 】Catherine of Aragon【Note】, I think her behavior is very decent.After the door closed, he whispered, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and I think we can rest assured that our friend will not miss this opportunity.A charming woman with a kind heart. Venus toute entiere No. sa proie attache [Note: French, Venus completely seizes her prey.It is a line in the third act of the first act of "Feder" written by the French writer Racine. 】. 【Note】Catherine of Aragon (1485｜1536): The first queen of King Henry VIII of England. Henry VIII divorced her on the grounds that he had no male heir, which was opposed by the Holy See, which led to the British Break with the Holy See and establish an independent Anglican Church. I did not quite understand what he meant at the time, for what I have told the reader about PattonI did not learn of Mrs Trafford until much later.But I could hear Barton in his words.Mrs Trafford was vaguely malicious and probably funny, so I chuckled. You're young, I see, and you probably want to use what my good Dixie calls a London punt when he's unlucky. 】. I go back by bus.I answered. oh?If you're going to take a carriage for two, I'm ready to ask you to give me a ride, but since you're going to take that common means of transport which I still like to call a stagecoach in the old-fashioned parlance, I'll take my bloated The body fits well into a cab. He beckoned a carriage, then offered me two limp fingers to hold. On Monday I will come to hear what dear Henry would call the result of your very delicate mission.