Ferry in charge—as we are not up to another mess having just seen what those Germans left of the house in Cannes simply unbelievable and another
thing tell Grady her dress has turned out more marvelous than a dream simply unbelievable
.
At last there arrives a time when one asks, what have I done? and for her it had come that morning at breakfast when Apple, reading the letter aloud, reached this mention of the dress; forgetting she’d not wanted it, and knowing only that now she never would wear it, she fled down the stairs of a new and mysterious grief: what have I done? The sea asked the same, keen gulls repeated the sea. Most of life is so dull it is not worth discussing, and it is dull at all ages. When we change our brand of cigarette, move to a new neighborhood, subscribe to a different newspaper, fall in and out of love, we are protesting in ways both frivolous and deep against the not to be diluted dullness of day-to-day living. Unfortunately, one mirror is as treacherous as another, reflecting at some point in every adventure the same vain unsatisfied face, and so when she asks what have I done? she means really what am I doing? as one usually does.
The sun was weakening, and she remembered that Apple’s little boy was having a birthday party for which oh god she’d promised to organize games. She slipped on her bathing suit and was about to step onto the open beach when she saw two horses cantering through the shallow surf. Astride the horses were a young man and a handsomegirl with black streaming hair; Grady knew them, she’d played tennis with them the summer before, but now she couldn’t recall their name, P-something and part of the younger manic set: rather charming, especially the wife. Up the beach they rode, their voices uniting in thrilled hoopla, and back they stormed, the drenched horses glistening like glass. Dismounting not far from where she lay hidden, and leaving their horses to cavort, they clambered over the dunes and fell with lovely laughter into a cove of high grass; it was quiet then, gulls glided soundless, sea breeze shivered the grass, and Grady thought of them curled there together, protected by a world that wished them well. Malice prompted her to show herself. Rising, she walked directly past them, and her shadow, skimming over them like a wing, was meant to shatter their pleasure. In this it failed, for the P-somethings, made innocent by the world’s goodwill, could not feel a shadow. She ran down the beach, inspired by their victory, for through them she felt she’d seen the future as it bearably could be, and as she climbed the stairs leading from beach to house she unexpectedly found herself looking forward to children and a birthday.
At the top of the stairs she met Apple, who it appeared had been on the point of descending. The encounter surprised them, and they stepped far apart, regarding each otherrudely. Grady said, “How’s the party going? Sorry if I’m late.” But Apple, rescrewing an earring with a petty precision that seemed to suggest their meeting had jarred it loose, looked at her as if she could not place her, as if, in fact, they needed to be introduced. It had the double effect of putting Grady on guard and off. “Really, I’m sorry if I’m late. Just let me run up and slip on a dress.”
Apple stalled her, saying, “You haven’t seen Toadie on the beach?” Toadie: an excruciating nickname for her husband, George. “He went out looking for you.”
“He must’ve gone a different way. But isn’t it a little silly, his going to look for me? I promised I’d be back to help with the party.”
Apple said, “You needn’t bother about the party,” and a disturbing tremor twitched the corners of her mouth. “I’ve sent the children home; Johnny-baby’s crying his heart out.”
“That can’t very well be my fault,” Grady said, uncertain, waiting. “I mean: why are you frightening me?”
“Am I? I should’ve thought it the other way
thing tell Grady her dress has turned out more marvelous than a dream simply unbelievable
.
At last there arrives a time when one asks, what have I done? and for her it had come that morning at breakfast when Apple, reading the letter aloud, reached this mention of the dress; forgetting she’d not wanted it, and knowing only that now she never would wear it, she fled down the stairs of a new and mysterious grief: what have I done? The sea asked the same, keen gulls repeated the sea. Most of life is so dull it is not worth discussing, and it is dull at all ages. When we change our brand of cigarette, move to a new neighborhood, subscribe to a different newspaper, fall in and out of love, we are protesting in ways both frivolous and deep against the not to be diluted dullness of day-to-day living. Unfortunately, one mirror is as treacherous as another, reflecting at some point in every adventure the same vain unsatisfied face, and so when she asks what have I done? she means really what am I doing? as one usually does.
The sun was weakening, and she remembered that Apple’s little boy was having a birthday party for which oh god she’d promised to organize games. She slipped on her bathing suit and was about to step onto the open beach when she saw two horses cantering through the shallow surf. Astride the horses were a young man and a handsomegirl with black streaming hair; Grady knew them, she’d played tennis with them the summer before, but now she couldn’t recall their name, P-something and part of the younger manic set: rather charming, especially the wife. Up the beach they rode, their voices uniting in thrilled hoopla, and back they stormed, the drenched horses glistening like glass. Dismounting not far from where she lay hidden, and leaving their horses to cavort, they clambered over the dunes and fell with lovely laughter into a cove of high grass; it was quiet then, gulls glided soundless, sea breeze shivered the grass, and Grady thought of them curled there together, protected by a world that wished them well. Malice prompted her to show herself. Rising, she walked directly past them, and her shadow, skimming over them like a wing, was meant to shatter their pleasure. In this it failed, for the P-somethings, made innocent by the world’s goodwill, could not feel a shadow. She ran down the beach, inspired by their victory, for through them she felt she’d seen the future as it bearably could be, and as she climbed the stairs leading from beach to house she unexpectedly found herself looking forward to children and a birthday.
At the top of the stairs she met Apple, who it appeared had been on the point of descending. The encounter surprised them, and they stepped far apart, regarding each otherrudely. Grady said, “How’s the party going? Sorry if I’m late.” But Apple, rescrewing an earring with a petty precision that seemed to suggest their meeting had jarred it loose, looked at her as if she could not place her, as if, in fact, they needed to be introduced. It had the double effect of putting Grady on guard and off. “Really, I’m sorry if I’m late. Just let me run up and slip on a dress.”
Apple stalled her, saying, “You haven’t seen Toadie on the beach?” Toadie: an excruciating nickname for her husband, George. “He went out looking for you.”
“He must’ve gone a different way. But isn’t it a little silly, his going to look for me? I promised I’d be back to help with the party.”
Apple said, “You needn’t bother about the party,” and a disturbing tremor twitched the corners of her mouth. “I’ve sent the children home; Johnny-baby’s crying his heart out.”
“That can’t very well be my fault,” Grady said, uncertain, waiting. “I mean: why are you frightening me?”
“Am I? I should’ve thought it the other way
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