Chapter 25 twenty five

Mrs. Driffield returned to the drawing room after seeing off the two pilgrims, a folder under her arm. What a lovely young man!She said, I hope young people in the UK have the same strong interest in literature as they do.I sent them a photo of Edward, and they asked for a photo of me, which I signed for them.Then she said kindly, Roy, you made a big impression on them.They said it was a great honor to meet you. That's because I have given many lectures in the United States.Roy said modestly. Oh, but they also saw your work.They say your work is masculine, so they love it. There were quite a few old photographs in the folder, and one was of a group of schoolboys, the shaggy-haired rascal in one of whom I would never have recognized as Driffield had Mrs Driffield not pointed it out to me.There was a fifteen-man rugby team, Driffield had grown a bit by this time; another, a young sailor in a jersey and pea jacket, was taken when Driffield ran away from home to be a sailor. .

This is a picture of him when he was married for the first time.said Mrs. Driffield. In the picture he has a beard, wears a pair of black and white checked trousers, a large white rose with peacock grass in the buttonhole, and a top hat on the table beside him. This is the bride.said Mrs. Driffield, trying not to laugh. Poor Rosie, forty years ago at the hands of a country photographer, she became such a grotesque.She stood erect, against a rich hall in the background, holding a bouquet of flowers; her gown was finely folded and fastened at the waist, with a brace inside.The bangs fall all the way to the eyes.A garland of orange blossoms was placed high on top of the lush hair, and a long white gauze was trailing behind.Only I knew how beautiful she would actually have been then.

She looks so vulgar.Roy said. She is very vulgar.muttered Mrs. Driffield. We looked at some other pictures of Edward, after he became famous, when he had just a mustache, and all the later when he was clean-shaven.From these photos you can see that his face is getting thinner and more wrinkled.The obstinate, homely look of his early photographs melted into a tired elegance.You can see the changes that experience, thinking, and realized ambitions have wrought in him.I looked again at pictures of him as a young sailor, and it seemed to me that he already had that air of aloofness which is evident in pictures of him later in life, and which I had seen in himself many years ago. Feel this vaguely.The face you see is just a mask, and his actions mean nothing.I have an impression that Driffield was alone and unknown until his death, that the real him was like a ghost, wandering silently and unnoticed between him as a writer and him in real life, watching Be regarded as Edward by the world.The two puppets of Driffield smiled mockingly detached.I feel that in the story I have written about him, I have not presented a living character: a down-to-earth, well-rounded figure with clear motives and logical actions; nor have I tried to: I am happy to This task is left to Alroy.Keel's more talented pen to finish.

I saw Harry the actor in those photos.Retford took some photos of Rossi, and then saw a Lionel.I can't help but feel a pang of pain at the picture of the portrait that Hillier had painted of her.What I remember most clearly is how she looked in this portrait.Although she was wearing old-fashioned clothes, she still looked full of life, and her whole body seemed to tremble slightly with the passion in her chest.She seems ready for the onslaught of love. She gave the impression of a stout country woman. It can be said that it is the milkmaid type of woman.Mrs. Driffield replied, I always thought she looked like a white Negro.

This is also Barton before.Mrs. Trafford liked the word for Rosie.Rosie's thick lips and big nose do, unfortunately, make this claim somewhat factual.But they didn't know how radiant her silvery blonde hair and golden silvery white skin were; they didn't even know her charming smile. She's nothing like a white Negro.I say she is as pure as the dawn.She is like the goddess of youth [Note: The goddess serving wine for the gods on Mount Olympus, according to legend, is the daughter of Zeus and Hera. ], like a white rose. Mrs. Driffield smiled, and she and Roy looked at each other meaningfully.

Barton.Mrs Trafford told me a great deal about her.I don't want to appear to have any ill will towards her, but I'm afraid she wouldn't be a very nice woman. It is on this point that you are mistaken.I replied that she was a very nice woman.I never saw her lose her temper.You want her to give you something, just ask for it.I have never heard her say an unkind word to others, she has a very kind heart. She is lazy as hell, and the house is always a mess.You don't even want to sit down on a chair because it's full of dust; you don't even dare to look into the corner of the room.So did she herself.She never knew how to tie her skirts, and you could always see her petticoats protruding two inches from the side of the skirt.

She doesn't care about such things.These things did not diminish her beauty, she was both beautiful and kind-hearted. Roy laughed, and Mrs. Driffield put her hand over her mouth to hide her smile. Oh, come, Mr. Ashenden, you do go too far.Let's not forget that let's face it, she's a nymphomaniac. I think it's a ridiculous word.I said. Let me say, then, that she was not at least a very good woman to treat poor Edward that way, and it was a blessing in disguise, of course.If she hadn't eloped with someone else, he might have had to carry it all his life, and with such an obstacle, he could never have reached the position he later achieved.But it was still true that she had been famously unfaithful to him.From what I've heard, she's a real slut.

You don't understand, I said, she's a very simple woman.Her nature is wholesome and frank.She likes to make others happy.She is willing to love. Do you call this love? Then call it an act of love.She was born to be a caring person.When she likes someone, she feels that it is natural to share the bed with him.She never hesitated about such things.It's not immoral, or inherently sensual; it's in her nature.She gave her body to others, as naturally as the heat from the sun and the fragrance from flowers.She thinks this is a happy thing, and she is willing to bring happiness to others.It did not detract from her character at all, she was still so sincere, simple and innocent.

Mrs. Driffield looked as if she had eaten a spoonful of castor oil and was sucking on a lemon to get the taste out of her mouth. I really don't understand.She said, but I have to admit that I never understood what Edward saw in her. Did he know she hooked up with all kinds of people?asked Roy. Of course he didn't know.she answered quickly. I don't think him so stupid as you do, Mrs. Driffield.I said. So why does he tolerate it? I think I can explain it to you.You know Rosie is not the kind of woman who stirs up love in other people's hearts, she stirs up a kind of affection.It would be ridiculous to be jealous of her.She was like a pond in the glade, so clear and deep that it was a pleasure to jump into it, even if a bum and a gypsy and a gamekeeper had dipped in it before you, the clear water Still just as cool, just as crystal clear.

Roy laughed again, and this time Mrs Driffield smiled openly. It's funny to hear you speak so passionately in such a poetic tone.Roy said. I hold back a sigh from myself.I've long found that when I'm at my most serious, people laugh.In fact, I can't help laughing at myself when I reread after a while what I wrote with genuine emotion.It must be because there is something absurd about sincere affection itself, but I can't think why it should be so, whether it is because man is originally a temporary inhabitant of an insignificant planet, so for the eternal soul, a man's life The pain and struggle of this is nothing more than a joke.

I saw that Mrs. Driffield wanted to ask me something, and she seemed a little embarrassed. Do you think he would want her if she wanted to come back? You know him better than I do.I don't think he will.I think that when one of his passions is exhausted, he ceases to be interested in the person from whom it was first aroused.I found him to be a man with a curious mixture of intense emotion and extreme indifference. I don't see how you can say that, Roy exclaimed, he's the nicest man I've ever met. Mrs. Driffield stared at me for a moment, then dropped her eyes. I don't know what happened to her after she went to America.asked Roy. She probably married Kemp, Mrs. Driffield said, and heard they changed their names.Of course they can no longer show their faces here. when did she die Hey, maybe ten years ago. How did you hear about it?I asked. It's Harold.Kemp, that's what Kemp's son said.What business does he do in Maidstone.I never broke the news to Edward.To him she had been dead for many years.I see no reason to remind him of the past.I think it always helps to put yourself in someone else's shoes when things go wrong.I thought to myself that if I were Edward I would not wish to be told of a mishap in my youth.You think I'm thinking right?