The Universe, O my brothers, is flinging wide its portals
for the Levee of the GREAT HIGH KING.
Thomas Carlyle, THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
for the Levee of the GREAT HIGH KING.
Thomas Carlyle, THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
After the attrition of thirty humdrum
years, he no longer loved her for her human qualities. He still found
her attractive because she was as self-possessed as a cat. Observed or
unobserved, wherever she was, she behaved the same, with the same rhythm
and attention, a graceful kind of selfishness, true to herself, if not
to him.
Watching her brushing her hair,
applying ineffable creams to her face and body, swiping her tablet as if
it were a mirror to her other, secret selves, or eating her small
helpings of balanced meals at the same table as him without once looking
at him, he felt he barely existed.
He was not offended.
He admired her independence and indifference to other people’s petty jealousies.
When she came home in the small hours, without telling him where she had been,
he knew better than to ask.
She was her own damned cat.
He was not offended.
He admired her independence and indifference to other people’s petty jealousies.
When she came home in the small hours, without telling him where she had been,
he knew better than to ask.
She was her own damned cat.
On balance, he suspected that she
wasn’t having sex with anyone else. She felt entitled to go where she
pleased and would despise him for thinking badly of her. Honi soit qui
mal y pense.
Showing his age, he preferred to think of the ancient chivalric motto in Sellar and Yeatman’s translation: “Honey, your silk stocking’s hanging down”.
So that’s what he said to her, and she smiled.
Noëlle Mackay, HUMAN RITES
LINK TO MAIN BLOG
Showing his age, he preferred to think of the ancient chivalric motto in Sellar and Yeatman’s translation: “Honey, your silk stocking’s hanging down”.
So that’s what he said to her, and she smiled.
Noëlle Mackay, HUMAN RITES
LINK TO MAIN BLOG
