The Book and the Brotherhood
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
A story about love and friendship and Marxism
Many years ago Gerard Hernshaw and his friends “commissioned” one of their number to write a political book.
Time passes and opinions change. “Why should we go on supporting a book which we detest?” Rose Curtland asks. “The brotherhood of Western intellectuals versus the book of history,” Jenkin Riderhood suggests. The theft of a wife further embroils the situation. Moral indignation must be separated from political disagreement.
Tamar Hernshaw has a different trouble and a terrible secret. Can one die of shame? In another quarter a suicide pact seems the solution. Duncan Cambus thinks that since it is a tragedy, someone must die. Someone dies. Rose, who has gone on loving without hope, at least deserves a reward.
were to damage Crimond, it would be helpful to prove that Crimond had been asking for trouble. The idea thatJean might find the 'challenge' did not enter his head for a moment. Jean was not a searcher in desks, and he knew that she believed him when he had said there had been `no one around' during her absence. This indeed was true, apart from the little incident with Tamar, which he would perhaps tell Jean about one day. Since their car was being serviced Duncan took a taxi which put him down
moment that Duncan, with some sort of dismissive gesture, should have turned and walked away in a manner signifying: I don't care what your idea was, I've made my statement and I'm going. If he had done that Crimond would probably not have impeded him. But Duncan felt so full of power just then that he was tempted to indulge his curiosity. He made the mistake of asking, 'Well, what did you want us to do?' 'Fight, of course,' said Crimond, now giving a curious pained smile. 'Oh don't be a fool,'
silence. Now they were hoine, back in the sitting room of their flat in Kensington. On arrival there both of them had felt it imperative to step out of their crumpled evening clothes, and had, in different rooms, hastily, as if arming for battle, put on more sober gear. Duncan, seated, had taken off his damp and muddy evening trousers and put on some old corduroys, with a voluminous blue shirt, not buttoned, not tucked in. Jean, standing before him, had covered her black petticoat and black
out and helped her to move some stones and dig a hole and watched her delight as it filled with water. Later that morning he announced that he had to be in London for two days later that week. When the time came Jean drove him to the airport as usual. When she had left him he bought some sandwiches and hired a car and drove it by a roundabout route toward a place upon a hillside which he had already, studying the landscape, determined upon where there was a thicket of gorse and a fallen tree
Jenkin was at the sideboard helping himself to eggs, bacon, sausage, fried bread and grilled tomatoes. In the old days there had used to be kidneys too, and kedgeree. Lily had eaten some toast with homemade gooseberry jam. Tamar had toyed with a piece of toast and rapidly vanished. Everyone had had coffee except for Lily who asked for tea. Rose, who got up very early and never ate breakfast, had had her early tea with Annushka, and, flitting about, had not sat down with her guests. She had