Seventeen
“And what are you doing, Hester, my love?” asked Philip.
In his wheelchair he was propelling himself along the passage. Hesterwas leaning out of the window halfway¹ along it. She started and drew herhead in.
“Oh, it’s you,” she said.
“Are you observing the universe, or considering suicide?” asked Philip.
She looked at him defiantly².
“What makes you say a thing like that?”
“Obviously it was in your mind,” said Philip. “But, frankly³, Hester, if youare contemplating⁴ such a step, that window is no good. The drop’s notdeep enough. Think how unpleasant it would be for you with a brokenarm and a broken leg, say, instead of the merciful oblivion you are crav-ing?”
“Micky used to climb down the magnolia tree from this window. It washis secret way in and out. Mother never knew.”
“The things parents never know! One could write a book about it. But ifit’s suicide you are contemplating, Hester, just by the summerhouse wouldbe a better place to jump from.”
“Where it juts⁵ out over the river? Yes, one would be dashed on the rocksbelow!”
“The trouble with you, Hester, is that you’re so melodramatic in yourimaginings. Most people are quite satisfied with arranging themselves ti-dily in the gas oven or measuring themselves out an enormous number ofsleeping pills.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” said Hester unexpectedly. “You don’t mind talk-ing about things, do you?”
“Well, actually, I haven’t much else to do nowadays,” said Philip. “Comeinto my room and we’ll do some more talking.” As she hesitated, he wenton: “Mary’s downstairs, gone to prepare me some delicious little morningmess with her own fair hands.”
“Mary wouldn’t understand,” said Hester.
“No,” Philip agreed, “Mary wouldn’t understand in the least.”
Philip propelled himself along and Hester walked beside him. Sheopened the door of the sitting room and he wheeled himself in. Hester fol-lowed.
“But you understand,” said Hester. “Why?”

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