‘He leaves it to you, to say!’
‘Can’t you wait a little while? Six months, or three months even . . . ? That is not very long to wait . . .’
I said:
‘I am sick of waiting. I don’t know even, that I want Hugo, now.’
George was silent; I knew how hard it must be for him to say these things, and I wanted to hurt him. There were sea gulls walking in the mud, at the edge of the river. They rose up in a cloud in front of us, calling and flapping their wings.
I said:
‘It is good of you to consider Hugo so much, but I don’t think he would be grateful to you.’
I said it in a hard, horrible voice.
George clasped his hands together; he clasped and unclasped his fingers, and said nothing at all.
I said: