Burnt Norton Read Online Free PDF Page B

coach house door. ‘Come with me.’ He put his finger to his lips. ‘Quietly now.’ She followed him to the foaling box. It was dark, and as her eyes adjusted, the straw moved. A tiny foal struggled to its feet.
    ‘Well, what do you think?’ For a moment she couldn’t speak, but when the little foal tottered towards them, completely unafraid, she found her tongue.
    ‘She’s beautiful Papa,’ she murmured, ‘quite beautiful.’
    ‘She was born two hours ago. Lorenzo and I stayed with the mare throughout the night. She is the first by the stallion Othello.’
    ‘The one you bought when I was born?’
    Sir William nodded, putting his hand on her shoulder.
    ‘May I give her a name, Papa?’ she whispered.
    ‘If you can think of a suitable name, then yes.’
    ‘Ophelia,’ she replied. ‘Please may we call her Ophelia?’
    Her father laughed, delighted. ‘A child who is familiar with Shakespeare deserves to name a foal. And when you can ride this Ophelia, when you can truly manage her, she shall be yours.’ Dorothy swelled with pride.
    Six months later, with her father standing beside her in the appointed place at the head of the rose garden, a statue was unveiled.
    ‘Ophelia,’ he said, pulling off the canvas shroud. ‘The start of a new bloodline, may she thrive for her new owner, Dorothy Ann Keyt. May her progeny become champions of the future.’
    Dorothy ran to the statue, unable to contain her excitement.
    ‘Thank you, Papa!’ she said, throwing her arms around the statue’s bronze neck. ‘Thank you so much.’ Her family applauded, but there was one voice missing. Dorothy’s face fell to realize that Thomas had not come out to join in the fun. But then he had always been different. And after the accident, things only got worse.
    ‘What’s wrong with you?’ Sir William chided, walking into the winter sitting room to find Thomas and his sister reading on the floor by the fire. Both looked up from their books.
    ‘The estate is your future, the family’s future. Go and get your coat and come outside. I wish you would apply the same passion to your property as you do to your poetry.’
    ‘It’s all right, Thomas,’ Elizabeth said when he had gone. ‘Papa doesn’t mean to be unkind; it’s just that you like different things.’
    Thomas tried to like those things beloved by his father – horses, shooting and hunting, the gentlemanly occupations that made a man – but it was hopeless.
    One morning he knocked on the door to his father’s study. ‘I have something to show you Papa,’ he said nervously. ‘There is a piece in the Gazette that I think will interest you. Would you like to see it?’
    He didn’t notice the glass of ruby wine or the papers spread upon his father’s desk until the newspaper dropped from his shaking hands, spreading the glass’s contents into a dark, destructive pool.
    ‘Get out of here, Thomas! Look what you’ve done! Take your bloody visions and get out.’
    ‘I didn’t mean to, Papa! Can’t you see it was an accident?’ His father refused to look at him. Exasperated, Thomas continued, ‘You never have time for me. You didn’t before, and you certainly don’t now. You shut yourself away, feeling sorry for yourself. If you had listened to me, none of this would have happened. I know you wish I had died instead of John, but let me make it easier for you – so do I.’ He ran from the room to find his younger sister.
    ‘Thomas, it’s all right,’ Dorothy said putting her arms around him. ‘It wasn’t your fault.’
    ‘At times I wonder if it was my fault. Perhaps the accident happened because I believed it would. Sometimes I think my head will burst with all these strange thoughts. If it wasn’t for you and Lizzie I’d go truly mad.’ He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. ‘I’ve written a poem for John. Shall I read it to you?’ He brushed his hair from his eyes, and with a faltering voice he read the sad rhyme.‘Do you like it?’ he