NO, MISS FLITWORTH.
“It was the day before we were going to be wed, like I said. And then one of his pack ponies came back by itself and then the men went and found the avalanche…and you know what I thought? I thought, that’s ridiculous. That’s stupid. Terrible, isn’t it? Oh, I thought other things afterward, naturally, but the first thing was that the world shouldn’t act as if it was some kind of book. Isn’t that a terrible thing to have thought?”
I MYSELF HAVE NEVER TRUSTED DRAMA, MISS FLITWORTH.
She wasn’t really listening.
“And I thought, what life expects me to do now is moon around the place in the wedding dress for years and go completely doolally. That’s what it wants me to do. Hah! Oh, yes! So I put the dress in the ragbag and we still invited everyone to the wedding breakfast, because it’s a crime to let good food go to waste.”
She attacked the fire again, and then gave him another megawatt stare.
“I think it’s always very important to see what’s really real and what isn’t, don’t you?”
MISS FLITWORTH?
“Yes?”
DO YOU MIND IF I STOP THE CLOCK?
She glanced up at the boggle-eyed owl.
“What? Oh. Why?”
I AM AFRAID IT GETS ON MY NERVES.
“It’s not very loud, is it?”
Bill Door wanted to say that every tick was like the hammering of iron clubs on bronze pillars.
IT’S JUST RATHER ANNOYING, MISS FLITWORTH.
“Well, stop it if you want to, I’m sure. I only keep it wound up for the company.”
Bill Door got up thankfully, stepped gingerly through the forest of ornaments, and grabbed the pine-cone shaped pendulum. The wooden owl glared at him and the ticking stopped, at least in the realm of common sound. He was aware that, elsewhere, the pounding of Time continued none the less. How could people endure it? They allowed Time in their houses, as though it was a friend.
He sat down again.
Miss Flitworth had started to knit, ferociously.
The fire rustled in the grate.
Bill Door leaned back in the chair and stared at the ceiling.
“Your horse enjoying himself?”
PARDON?
“Your horse. He seems to be enjoying himself in the meadow,” prompted Miss Flitworth.
OH. YES.
“Running around as if he’s never seen grass before.”
HE LIKES GRASS.
“And you like animals. I can tell.”
Bill Door nodded. His reserves of small talk, never very liquid, had dried up.