It's
wonderful how cruel Gorgio feythers is to poor born naterals. And she
might ha' heerd in London about St. Winifred's Well a-curin' people.'
'Sinfi,' I said, 'you know there is no hope. And I have no friend but
you now--I am going back to the Romanies.'
'No, no, brother,' she said, 'never no more.'
She put on her shawl. I rose mechanically. When she bade Cyril and
Wilderspin good-bye and passed out of the studio, I did so too. In
the street she stood and looked wistfully at me, as though she saw me
through a mist, and then bade me good-bye, saying that she must go to
Kingston Vale where her people were encamped in a hired field. We
separated, and I wandered I knew not whither.
III
I found myself inquiring for the New North Cemetery, and after a time
I stood looking through the bars of tall iron gates at long lines of
gravestones and dreary hillocks before me. Then I went in, walking
straight over the grass towards a gravedigger digging in the
sunshine. He looked at me, resting his foot on his spade.
'I want to find a grave.
Pages:
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572
573
574
575
576
577
578
579
580
581