«I'll leave the door ajar, you'll see the landing light.»
«I think I'd die of terror in the dark, my thoughts would kill me.»
«Look, Priscilla, I'm going into the country the day after tomorrow for a while to work. You'll be all right here with Francis-«No, no, no, Bradley, you mustn't leave me, Roger might come-«He won't come, I know he won't-«I'd die of shame and fear if Roger came-Oh my life is so awful, it's just so awful to be me, you don't know what it's like waking every morning and finding the whole horror of being yourself still there. Bradley, you won't go away, will you, I haven't anybody but you.»
«All right, all right-«You promise you won't go, you promise-?»
«I won't go-not yet-«Say 'promise,' say it, say the word-« 'Promise.' «
«My mind's all hazy.»
«That's sleep. Good night, there's a good girl. I'll leave the door ajar a little. Francis and I will be quite near.»
She protested still, but I left her and returned to the sitting-room. Only one lamp was lit and the room was ruddy and dusky. There were murmurs from the bedroom, then silence. I felt exhausted. It had been a long day.
«What's that vile smell?»
«It's the gas, Brad. I couldn't find the matches.»
Francis was sitting on the floor beside the glowing gas fire with the bottle of sherry. The level in the bottle had dropped considerably.
«Of course you can't remember being in the womb,» I told him. «It's impossible.»
«It isn't impossible. You can.»
«Nonsense.»
«We can remember what it was like when we were in the womb and our parents had sex.»
«If you can believe that you can believe anything.»
«I'm sorry I upset Priscilla.»
«She keeps talking about suicide. They say if people talk about suicide they don't do it.»
«That's not so. I think she could.»
«Would you stay with her if I went away?»
«Of course, I'd only want board and lodging and a bit-«I can't go though. Oh God.» I leaned back against one of the armchairs and closed my eyes. The calm image of Rachel rose before me like a tropical moon. I wanted to talk to Francis about myself, but I could only talk in riddles. I said, «Priscilla's husband is in love with a young girl. They've been lovers for ages. He's so happy now he's got rid of Priscilla. He's going to marry the girl. I haven't told Priscilla, of course. Isn't falling in love odd? It can happen to anyone at any time.»
«So,» said Francis. «Priscilla is in hell. Well, we all are. Life is torture, consciousness is torture. All our little devices are just morphia to stop us from screaming.»
«No, no,» I said, «good things can happen. Like, well, like falling in love.»
«We're each of us screaming away in our own private padded cell.»
