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- Wydawca: KtoCzyta.pl
- Kategoria: Kryminał
- Język: polski
Why not destroy someone’s memory in the hope that they will remember past lives. It turned out that this is a reverse scenario of Pygmalion. He fell in love with the girl and then destroyed her. I like the idea that a person is a common set of his experiences and experiences, but if they are erased, the person who is left will be completely different. Probably one of the best opengame stories.
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Contents
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XX
CHAPTER XXI
CHAPTER XXII
CHAPTER XXIII
CHAPTER XXIV
CHAPTER XXV
CHAPTER XXVI
CHAPTER XXVII
CHAPTER XXVIII
CHAPTER XXIX
CHAPTER XXX
CHAPTER XXXI
CHAPTER XXXII
CHAPTER XXXIII
CHAPTER XXXIV
CHAPTER XXXV
CHAPTER XXXVI
CHAPTER XXXVII
CHAPTER XXXVIII
CHAPTER XXXIX
CHAPTER XL
CHAPTER I
The fringe of a city fog was hanging about the Edgware Road. The sky–such of it as could be seen–was heavy with gray clouds, the pavements were wet and sloppy with recent rains. The broad thoroughfare was almost deserted. The few foot passengers hurried along with upturned collars and dripping umbrellas. It was a bad afternoon for the shops. Before one of the largest two girls were standing together.
It was the London headquarters of a wholesale mantle and jacket maker, whose name loomed large from the hoardings of half the great towns in England. Behind the plate-glass windows covering the immaculate shapes of many wooden dummies were a goodly collection of ready-made garments, whose peculiar qualities, bravely set out in thick black letters, upon long strips of cardboard, might well have exhausted the whole stock of feminine adjectives. A tweed cape with a hood and a cunningly displayed plaid lining advertised itself as the “Ranelagh Golf Cape,” a more gorgeous garment in the background appealed to possible purchasers as the “Countess” mantle, and gave modest reassurance as to the quality of its trimming and its Parisian extraction.
The customers of the establishment were obviously of sporting tastes, and addicted to the diversions of the well-to-do. There were yachting jackets and shooting capes, driving cloaks, and–in a little window all to themselves–opera wraps! Everything was marvellously cheap. There were notes of exclamation following the prices. There were rows of electric lights to enhance the brilliancy of jet trimmings and steel buttons. Truly the place should have been a feminine Paradise.
Yet of all this magnificence there were but two spectators–two girls huddled together under one umbrella. The younger, large-eyed, anaemic, untidy, looked and spoke of what she saw with eager and strenuous toleration–a toleration which at times was merged into enthusiasm. Her companion, who was taller, and who held herself with a distinction which was oddly at variance with her shabby clothes, never attempted to conceal her contempt for this tinselly array of self-styled Paris models and cheap reproductions from the inner world of fashion. And indeed she seemed scarcely the sort of person for ready-made garments.
The younger girl’s interest was apparently impersonal. She was essaying the part of a feminine Mephistopheles.
“I say, Eleanor, I think that one’s quite stunning,” she declared, pointing suddenly at one of the most atrocious of the models. “It’s smart, ain’t it? There was a lady came to the shop yesterday wearing one just like it. I declare you couldn’t tell ‘em apart. She was a lady too–really. She came in a carriage, and she had a little dog, and a real gold muff-chain, with funny little stones set in it–not one of them imitation things. It’s cheap, too, only twenty-seven and elevenpence. Come in and try it on. I’ll ask for it if you like!”
The girl glanced at the jacket and shivered. She made an effort to move away from the shop, but her companion’s arm restrained her.
“Why, you haven’t even looked at it!” she protested. “What a one you are to come shopping! Look at those steel ornaments. I call it most ladylike!”
“It is absolutely hideous, Ada,” the other declared. “I would not put the thing on. Come away. There is nothing here. I am weary of looking at all this ugliness. Let us go and have some tea somewhere–and sit down!”
But Ada declined to move. She ignored her companion’s weary gesture, and continued her expostulations. Her high-pitched Cockney voice sounded strangely after the other girl’s soft speech and correct enunciation.
“Now, Eleanor, you must be reasonable,” she declared vigorously. “It’s all rubbish to be turning your nose up at everything just because it ain’t exactly what you’ve been used to. A jacket you must have, and you cannot expect to go to Redfern with something under thirty shillings.”
“I can make this do–a little longer.”
“You can’t! It’s threadbare, and you’ll catch your death of cold. This place is as good as any. If you don’t like what’s in the window, let’s go in and see if they’ve got anything else. I know the young gentleman who’s head-salesman here, and he won’t mind a bit of trouble–especially when he sees you. I think I can get a bit off the price too. Come along!”
Her companion shook herself free from the arm which was urging her inside. A sudden light flashed in her eyes, her lips quivered. Notwithstanding her worn clothes, her ill-shapen hat, and the hideous white glare in which they stood, one saw immediately that she was beautiful. The slight sullenness which in repose marred her features was gone. The faint flush which crept through the unnatural pallor of her cheeks restored her coloring, one realized the elusive blue shade of her eyes, the many coils of soft brown hair arranged with a grace which contrasted strangely with the worn hat and veil. She grew younger, too, with that little burst of feeling, the soft delicacy of her skin, the lingering girlishness of her figure asserted themselves. But she was very angry.
“You are blind, Ada!” she exclaimed passionately. “You see nothing! You understand nothing.”
“Mercy me! I don’t know so much about that!” Ada retorted, half indignant.
“Oh, don’t be foolish! You’re better off. Thank God for it–and come along.”
“I understand that you’ll catch your death o’ cold in this wind with little more than a rag around you,” Ada declared vigorously. “I’ve twice as much on as you, and I’m almost perished. I’d sooner have the fog than this. It’s enough to kill you!”
The other girl shrugged her shoulders slightly.
“What if it does! Is life such a beautiful gift then to you and to me–to the thousands who are like us?”
“I’d sooner live than die, anyway,” Ada declared bluntly. “Bearmain’s is a bit rough, perhaps, but there’s plenty of fun to be had if you set the right way about it.”
The other girl smiled faintly.
“I am afraid,” she said, “that I shall never find the right way. I should be glad to die to-day, tomorrow, this moment! Come, if my threadbare rags will take me to another world that disposes once and for all of the jacket question, I’ll hug them and welcome.”
Ada abandoned the subject with a little gesture of impatience. She attended church once every Sunday, and it sounded irreverent to her.
“Let’s go and have some tea, then,” she suggested. “You’re tired now, and no wonder. Perhaps you’ll feel more heart afterwards.”
The girl whom she had called Eleanor laughed shortly, but did not move. She, who a few minutes ago had tried to drag her companion from the spot, seemed to find now some evil fascination in those long rows of resplendent garments.
“Look at them, Ada,” she exclaimed bitterly. “They are for you and for me, and for the thousands like us. They are ugly, they are cheap, they are pretentious. That is what life is for us. And we can’t escape. We are shut in on every side. It is horrible.”
Her lips quivered–there was a break in her voice. Ada looked into her face with vague, wistful sympathy. She was sorry, but she did not understand. She looked once more at the jackets in the window.
“I can’t see that the things are so dreadful–for the price,” she said. “You haven’t been used to ready-made clothes, I know, but after all I don’t see where the difference comes in. I always look at it like this–if you can’t afford the one thing you must have the other. That’s reasonable, isn’t it now?”
There was a moment’s silence. Then both girls became suddenly aware that a man was standing upon the pavement only a few feet away, gazing through the shop windows with an absorption which was obviously simulated. He was in a position to overhear their conversation–he had already, in all probability, overheard some part of it. Without a glance in his direction the two girls turned away. The man, after a moment’s hesitation, followed them.
The older girl drew a long breath of relief.
“Do you know, Ada,” she said, “I think if I had stood much longer before that window I should have cried. Is there anything more depressing than ugliness?”
Ada sighed.
“I don’t see that you’re much nearer getting your jacket,” she said, “and that’s what we started out, so early for.”
Her companion laughed softly.
“Never mind,” she said. “You needn’t worry any more about that. I have quite made up my mind. I am going to buy some cloth and make it myself.”
“There can’t be much cut about it,” Ada remarked doubtfully. “A jacket’s just one of those things I don’t see how one can make oneself. So much depends upon the style.”
Again her companion laughed, and the man behind seemed to find it pleasant to hear, for he quickened his pace and drew a little nearer to them.
“You must wait and see it before you criticise, Ada,” she said. “You shall help me to choose the material to-morrow.”
Ada’s face brightened.
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