"Of course you must go!" broke in Channah, adding her pressure, "Look how hard you've been working with all your Chaucers and things! We'll be having you to look after as well, if you're not careful! And you know yourself how it'll cheer mother up to think you're in the open air with no worries and nothing to do but get fat! I'll tell you what, I'll give you an extra half-crown—if you promise not to spend it on your smelly old books—and you must go to a farm every morning——"
But as she went on talking, a shadow, the sensation of a picture rather than a picture itself, established itself in Philip's mind. A figure shrouded, very calm, very cold! Candles fluttering somewhere! Hunched shadows ... calm ... cold....!
"I can't go! I can't go!" he shouted suddenly.
"Feivele!" his mother begged. "What is with you? Speak to him, Channah, speak to him!"
"You're a beast, Philip! Look how you're upsetting her! You must go! Emmes adonoi, the doctor said she's getting on nicely. It's only rest she wants and good food, he said, and no worry. No worry, mind you!"
He looked away from Channah and saw the appeal in his mother's eyes.
"All right, I'll go!" he said heavily.
"Good old lad! The first thing..."
"Look here, Channah!" he interrupted. An idea had suddenly occurred to him. "I'll go on one condition. You must write a note to me every day I'm away, it doesn't matter how small, a post-card if you like! And every day mother must write her name on it, without fail! Promise that!"
Channah looked at him strangely.