Books: ROMANCE

(3 of 3)

The baby at once made a desperate attempt to turn over. Since it had forgotten the trick and jerked its arms and legs in different directions, it succeeded as before only in rocking itself slightly from side to side. But it continued its efforts with Chinese resolution. The nurse turned a page. The two little girls, who had followed the plump young woman to the rug, looked longingly at the baby; the plump young woman shooed them away with the gestures of one driving sheep. They retreated slowly and reluctantly, on divergent routes, glancing backwards. The dark one frowned and bridled; blue trousers sobbed. The plump young woman gazed round as if for the owner of the baby, but since the nurse, her face now completely hidden by the book as she sat forward in her chair, like a stall-holder at the crisis of the fifth act, gave no sign of attention, she moved away. A slight bend of her short neck sideways, a certain motion of the hips, at once decorous and undulating, seemed to say, "After all, virtue is its own reward."

Blue trousers flew at the baby, gave it two sharp smacks in the face and ran as if for her life. The baby uttered yells of astonishing loudness, each yell different from the last and expressive of a new species of disgust.

The nurse looked over the top of her book. Her mouth opened to call reproof. But she closed it again without speech. She saw that this time there was no help for her. She jumped up from her seat. The book was still open in her right hand—instinctively she was keeping the place. But suddenly, with a movement of fury, she banged it shut and threw it hard upon the ground. She wanted to hurt that book.