The Burden Of Keeping Three

[the Woman] Paused And Seemed To Take A Deep Breath. 'you See,' She Declared. 'i Am Tom Mallow's Aunt.' Catherine's First Instinct Was To Burst Out Laughing. She Wondered Why There Was Something Slightly Absurd About Aunts; Perhaps It Was Because One Thought Of Them As Dear, Comfortable Creatures, Somehow Lacking In Dignity And Prestige.

Perhaps There Can Be Too Much Making Of Cups Of Tea, I Thought, As I Watched Miss Statham Filling The Heavy Teapot. Did We Really Need A Cup Of Tea? I Even Said As Much To Miss Statham And She Looked At Me With A Hurt, Almost Angry Look, 'do We Need Tea? She Echoed. 'but Miss Lathbury...' She Sounded Puzzled And Distressed And I Began To Realise That My Question Had Struck At Something Deep And Fundamental. It Was The Kind Of Question That Starts A Landslide In The Mind. I Mumbled Something About Making A Joke And That Of Course One Needed Tea Always, At Every Hour Of The Day Or Night.

She Set About Preparing Her Supper. It Would Have To Be One Of Those Classically Simple Meals, The Sort That French Peasants Are Said To Eat And That Enlightened English People Sometimes Enjoy Rather Self-consciously - A Crusty French Loaf, Cheese, And Lettuce And Tomatoes From The Garden. Of Course There Should Have Been Wine And A Lovingly Prepared Dressing Of Oil And Vinegar, But Dulcie Drank Orange Squash And Ate Mayonnaise That Came From A Bottle.

She Had Always Been An Unashamed Reader Of Novels.

Once Outside The Magic Circle The Writers Became Their Lonely Selves, Pondering On Poems, Observing Their Fellow Men Ruthlessly, Putting People They Knew Into Novels; No Wonder They Were Without Friends.