The Doll Read Online Free PDF Page B

next day and she had gone, they had both gone. No one knew where she was. I asked everyone I saw – no one could tell me.
    Everything is dim, everything is useless. I shall never see Rebecca again – no one will see her again. It will always be Rebecca and Julio. Days will come, and nights, and nothing – they will haunt me – I shall never sleep – I’m cursed. I don’t know what I’m saying, what I’m writing. What am I going to do? Oh! God, what am I going to do? I can’t live – I can’t cope . . .

And Now to God the Father
    T he Reverend James Hollaway, Vicar of St Swithin’s, Upper Chesham Street, was looking at his profile in the glass. The sight was pleasing to him, so much so that he lingered a considerable time before he laid the mirror back upon the dressing-table.
    He saw a man of about fifty-five years of age, who looked younger, with a high forehead and magnificent iron-grey hair, that was apt to curl slightly at the temples.
    The nose was straight, the mouth narrow and sensitive, and he had been told that his deep-set eyes could be in turn humorous, dangerous, and inspired. He was tall and broad-shouldered; he carried his head a little to one side, and his powerful chin was tilted in the air.
    To some this was his fascination, this inquiring, conceited angle of the head; to others it was the rich tones of his ever-changing voice, the strong capable hands, the slow lilting walk that was the secret of his tremendous attraction.
    Yet all these were as nothing compared to his charm of manner, his wit, his talent for making the shyest person feel at ease.
    Women adored him; he was so broad-minded, so tolerant, and he always gave the impression that he understood them far better than they did themselves. Besides, he was always so delightfully intimate. Men found him a surprisingly good companion; his wine was excellent; he never talked about religion, and he ever had a fund of damned amusing stories. It was all these qualities combined that made him the most popular preacher in London.
    He was bound in time to become a bishop. St Swithin’s was frequented by the very best people. The fashionable thing to do was to attend Mass on Sunday mornings, and if possible to get an invitation back to lunch at the Vicar’s exquisitely furnished Georgian house that adjoined the church.
    Here one was sure to find a crowd of well-known people: a leading politician, a couple of famous actresses, a rising young painter, and of course a sprinkling of titles.
    Everyone agreed that ‘Jim’ Hollaway was a perfect host, and his conversation was as clever as his sermons. He was careful never to speak about God, or anything embarrassing, but was ever willing to discuss last night’s new play, the latest book, the newest fashion, and even the most recent scandal. He made a show of his excessive modernity, and besides being a keen poker-player, and an enthusiastic dancer, he delighted the younger generation by the freedom of his expressions. There was something so very original in the idea of being shocked by a clergyman. In church of course he was different, and this they appreciated.
    With his tall figure, his striking voice and eyes, his eloquent gestures, the whole effect was rather wonderful. People soon forgave him his High Church tendencies, and the celebration of Mass instead of the usual eleven-o’ clock Matins. Also there was more to watch.
    Men went to listen to the singing and because it was the thing to do; women went for the flowers and the lighted candles, for the agreeable emotional sensation that was produced by the smell of incense, and above all because they were half in love with the Vicar.
    When they had summoned up enough courage to go to confession they were overwhelmed by his gentleness, his discretion, and above all by his apparent understanding. Some of the more intense of his congregation went to his Thursday-afternoon teas.
    Here at last religion was discussed, but the Vicar made his gatherings