The four of them were together in a room again, fastening and hooking and adjusting; standing about before mirrors. We’ve all grown up together ... we can admit it now ... we’re admitting it. Everything clear, back to the beginning; happy and good. The room was still with the hush of its fresh draperies, hemming them in. Beautiful immortal forms moved in the room, reaping ... voices, steady and secure, said nothing but the necessary things, borne down with wealth, all the wealth there was ... all the laughter and certainty. Immortality. Nothing could die. They saw and knew everything. Each tone was a confession and a song of truth. They need never meet and speak again. They had known. The voices of Sarah and Harriett would go on ... marked with fresh things.... Her own and Eve’s would remain, separate, to grow broken and false and unrecognisable in the awful struggle for money. No matter. The low secure untroubled tone of a woman’s voice. There was nothing like it on earth.... If you had once heard it ... in your own voice, and the voice of another woman responding ... everything was there.
20
Was there anyone who fully realised how amazing it was ... a human tone. Perhaps everyone did, really, most people without knowing it. A few knew. Perhaps that was what kept life going.
21
In a few minutes they would go. They avoided each other’s eyes. Miriam began to be afraid Eve would say something cheerful, or sing a snatch of song, desecrating the singing that was there, the deep eternal singing in each casual tone.
Gerald’s whistle came up from the front garden.
Miriam opened the door. Bennett’s voice came from the hall, calling for Sarah.
“Your skirt sets simply perfectly, Sally.” ... Sarah was at the door in her neat soft dark blue travelling dress, and a soft blue straw hat with striped ribbon bands and bows, hurrying forward, her gold hair shining under her hat; seeing nothing but the open door downstairs and Bennett waiting.
22
The garden and pathway was thronged with bright-coloured guests. Miriam found herself standing with Gerald on the curb, waiting for Harriett to finish her farewells. He crushed her arm against his side. “Good Lord, Mirry, ain’t I glad it’s all over.”