The Iron Gates

Начало книги

The dream began quietly. She and Mildred were in a room and Mildred was curled up in a chair, writing.

“What are you writing, Mildred?” Lucille said. “You are writing, what are you writing?”

Slowly, dreamily, Mildred smiled, “Nothing, I have finished, I have quite finished,” and she rose and walked through the window into the snow.

“You mustn’t go out just in your dress like that, Mildred, you’ll catch cold.”

“No... I’m going away... I’ve quite finished...”

“No, it’s dark, it’s snowing.”

But she walked away inexorably, leaving no tracks, casting no shadow.

“Mildred, come back! The back of your head is open!”

“No...”

“You’re bleeding. You’ll make the park untidy.”

“I’m going away,” Mildred called back, softly. “Goodbye, dear. Good-bye, Lucille.”

She walked on, between the trees, and up and over the hills. With each step she became smaller and smaller, yet more and more distinct, as if neither time nor space had the power to blur her details. Now and then she turned around and she was always smiling, like a little doll.

Читать дальше →