Mrs. Clarke pushed back her chair bruskly. She was now feeling really afraid. She longed to call in Sonia. She wished the other servants were in the flat instead of at Buyukderer.
“You boy’s dead,” she said, dully, obstinately. “Jimmy has nothing to do with him—never had anything to do with him. And as for me, I have never interfered between you and your child.”
She got up. So did he.
“Never, never!” she repeated. “But your mind is warped and you don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I do. But we won’t argue about it. You’re a materialist and you can’t understand the real things.”
His own words seemed suddenly to strike upon him like a great blow.
“The real things!” he exclaimed. “I’ve lost them all for ever. But I’ll keep what I’ve got. I’ll keep what I’ve got. You hate me and I hate you, but we belong to each other and we’ll stick together, and Jimmy must make up his mind to it. Once you said that if he was twenty-one you’d tell him all about it. If you’re going to England I’ll go there too, and we can enlighten Jimmy a little sooner. Now let us be off to the rooms. As you’ve taken a dislike to them we’ll give them up. But we must pay a last visit to them, a visit of good-bye.”
She shuddered. The thought of being shut up alone with him horrified her imagination. She waited a moment; then she said:
“Very well. I’ll go and put on my things.”
And she went out of the room. She wanted to gain time, to be alone for a moment.