The Last and the First by Ivy Compton-Burnett

will give me true answers. I will begin with you, Osbert. How much do you feel your uncle’s death?”
    â€œAbout as much as he would have felt mine, Grannie. You know what his feeling would have been.”
    â€œAnd you, Erica. How much do you feel it?”
    â€œPerhaps less than he would have felt mine. But that may not be against me. I see it is sad that he is dead.”
    â€œAnd you, Amy. Look at me and tell me the truth.”
    Amy looked at the ground and told herself the truth, that her uncle would never be seen at school again.
    â€œOh, I don’t know, Grannie; I am not sure. I think I feel as Erica does. It is sad that he is dead.”
    â€œIt is sad that he is dead,” said Jocasta, almost in mimicry. “It is sad that they are both dead, my sons who seemed so apart from each other, and were both so nearto me. They had different qualities, perhaps the opposite ones, but their mother understood them and valued them for what they were.”
    â€œAnd knew what they were not,” murmured Osbert. “She saw their feet were of clay. And sometimes perceived it in other parts of them.”
    â€œWhat did you say, Osbert? What was it, Amy? Answer me at once when I speak.”
    â€œOh—that you saw their feet were of clay, Grannie; and saw it—perceived it in other parts of them.”
    â€œSo, Osbert, that is what it was. That is how you talk to your sisters of men who were wiser than you, and are not able to answer. So I saw their feet were of clay? Do you ever turn your eyes on yourself?”
    â€œNo, I never do, Grannie. I am made entirely of clay. I ought not to have been made at all. I might see myself as others see me.”
    â€œWell, cease to mutter to yourself. Hear yourself as others hear you. If you are ashamed of what you have to say, ask yourself why you say it. Look into your own heart and recognise what you see. There is something different about you all to-day. And it is not a day for betraying the hidden side of yourselves.”
    â€œWhich days are the ones for that?” said Erica. “I have never known them.”
    â€œThey say that sorrow is ennobling,” said Osbert. “So I suppose Grannie is ennobled. That is why her standard is so high.”
    â€œWell, it is my own, and different from yours, perhaps different from everyone’s. It is one of the things I have to accept. I must face them and go forward. To fail would be to fail myself. Well, Hollander, you have a sad old woman for a mistress.”
    â€œYes, ma’am,” said Hollander, in sympathetic agreement.“When my uncle died my grandmother was never to lift her head again.”
    â€œWell, I must try to do a little better than that.”
    â€œIf you are able to, ma’am. In the other case no hope was entertained,” said Hollander with a faint sound of shock in his tone.
    â€œI must think of my grand-children as well as of myself.”
    â€œWell, youth has its eyes on the future, ma’am. My grandmother observed it in her dry vein.”
    â€œAnd you don’t connect me with the future?”
    â€œNo, ma’am,” said Hollander, smiling at the idea.
    â€œI may have a little of it.”
    â€œYes, ma’am, with every hour of it an hour too much.”
    â€œWe should give ourselves to life as long as we have it.”
    â€œYes, ma’am, with thoughts on something very different.”
    â€œPerhaps we should not dwell on our own state.”
    â€œThere would be reminders, ma’am, that would not escape you.”
    â€œYou think I can turn a clear eye on myself?”
    â€œYes, ma’am, when that is the direction. Otherwise I think few of us elude it.”
    â€œPerhaps I see and feel too much for my time of life.”
    â€œWell, ma’am, it is a case of now or never. When you can attend to it, ma’am, a registered packet has come for you. I hope I did right in signing the receipt. The