Agatha Christie The Hollow Chapter I At 6:13 a.m. ... - bzelbublive.info

Chapter XXXAs she drove towards London, the two phrases echoed through Henrietta's mind--What shall I do? Where shall I go? For the last few weeks she had been strung up,excited, never relaxing for a moment. She had had a task to perform--a task laid onher by John. But now that was over-- had she failed--or succeeded? One could lookat it either way . . . But however one looked at it, the task was over. And she experiencedthe terrible weariness of the reaction.Her mind went back to the words she hadspoken to Edward that night on the terrace --the night of John's death--the night whenshe had gone along to the pool and into the pavilion and had deliberately, by the lightof a match, drawn Ygdrasil upon the iron table. Purposeful, planning--not yet able tosit down and mourn--mourn for her dead. "I should like," she had said to Edward, "togrieve for John ..." But she had not dared to relax then-- not dared to let sorrowtake command over her . . . But now she could grieve . . . Now she had all thetime there was . . . She said under her breath, "John . . . John ..." Bitternessand black rebellion broke over her . . . She thought, I wish I'd drunk that cup oftea ... Driving the car soothed her, gave her strength for the moment . . . But soonshewould be in London. Soon she would put the car in the garage and go along to theempty studio . . . Empty since John would never sit there again bullying her, beingangry with her, loving her more than he wanted to love her, telling her eagerly aboutRidgeway's Disease--about his triumphs and despairs, about Mrs. Crabtree and St.Christopher's . . . And suddenly, with a lifting of the dark pall that lay overher mind, she said aloud: "Of course. That's where I will go. To St. Christopher's..." Lying in her narrow hospital bed, old Mrs. Crabtree peered up at her visitorout of rheumy twinkling eyes. She was exactly as John had described her, andHenrietta felt a sudden warmth, a liftingof the spirit. This was real--this would last! Here, for a little space, she had foundJohn again . . . "The pore doctor. Orful, ain't it?" Mrs. Crabtree was saying.There was relish in her voice as well as regret, for Mrs. Crabtree loved life; andsudden deaths, particularly murders or deaths in childbed, were the richest parts ofthe tapestry of life. "Getting 'imself bumped off like that! Turned my stomach rightover it did, when I "card. I read all about it in the papers--Sister let me 'ave all shecould get 'old of--reely nice about it, she was. There was pictures and everythink . . .That swimming pool and all. Ts wife leaving the inquest, pore thing, and that LadyAngkatell what the swimming pool belongedto! Lots of pictures. Real mystery the "ole thing, weren't it?"Henrietta was not