小说园

第67部分（第4页）

〃If　I　were　the　moon；　I　know　where　I　would　fall　down。〃

Ah；　it　was　a　dull　agony　to　her　to　remember　what　she　had　been

then。　For　it　was　remembering　a　dead　self。　All　that　was　dead

after　Winifred。　She　knew　the　corpse　of　her　young；　loving　self；

she　knew　its　grave。　And　the　young　living　self　she　mourned　for

had　scarcely　existed；　it　was　the　creature　of　her

imagination。

Deep　within　her　a　cold　despair　remained　unchanging　and

unchanged。　No　one　would　ever　love　her　now……she　would　love

no　one。　The　body　of　love　was　killed　in　her　after　Winifred；　there

was　something　of　the　corpse　in　her。　She　would　live；　she　would　go

on；　but　she　would　have　no　lovers；　no　lover　would　want　her　any

more。　She　herself　would　want　no　lover。　The　vividest　little　flame

of　desire　was　extinct　in　her　for　ever。　The　tiny；　vivid　germ　that

contained　the　bud　of　her　real　self；　her　real　love；　was　killed；

she　would　go　on　growing　as　a　plant；　she　would　do　her　best　to

produce　her　minor　flowers；　but　her　leading　flower　was　dead

before　it　was　born；　all　her　growth　was　the　conveying　of　a　corpse

of　hope。

The　miserable　weeks　went　on；　in　the　poky　house　crammed　with

children。　What　was　her　life……a　sordid；　formless；

disintegrated　nothing；　Ursula　Brangwen　a　person　without　worth　or

importance；　living　in　the　mean　village　of　Cossethay；　within　the

sordid　scope　of　Ilkeston。　Ursula　Brangwen；　at　seventeen；

worthless　and　unvalued；　neither　wanted　nor　needed　by　anybody；

and　conscious　herself　of　her　own　dead　value。　It　would　not　bear

thinking　of。

But　still　her　dogged　pride　held　its　own。　She　might　be

defiled；　she　might　be　a　corpse　that　should　never　be　loved；　she

might　be　a　core…rotten　stalk　living　upon　the　food　that　others

provided；　yet　she　would　give　in　to　nobody。

Gradually　she　became　conscious　that　she　could　not　go　on

living　at　home　as　she　was　doing；　without　place　or　meaning　or

worth。　The　very　children　that　went　to　school　held　her

uselessness　in　contempt。　She　must　do　something。

Her　father　said　she　had　plenty　to　do　to　help　her　mother。　From

her　parents　she　would　never　get　more　than　a　hit　in　the　face。　She

was　not　a　practical　person。　She　thought　of　wild　things；　of

running　away　and　being　a　domestic　servant；　of　asking　some　man

to　take　her。