AN: So I haven't written for many years, but while I was lying in bed sleeplessly the other night, this voice (I'll call it, 'Brackets') appeared in my head and would not leave until I had written something. Brackets, sarcastic and drole being that it is, also demanded to feature in whatever I wrote, providing what it believes to be 'useful' commentary. The result was this. I hope you enjoy it. (Me too.)
He sits there (well of course he sits there. After hearing such news, one can't very well stand can they? Especially a man in his condition) simply absorbing; the weight of the air around him affecting his breathing, so filled is it with those words.
"Mary is still in love with you."
Violet continues to speak but the words come out in a blur (the transmission is terrible in winter. He must fix this too.): something about Juliet...?
"Mary is still in love with you."
And now he is speaking (how is this happening? Matthew the Marionette is in town for the weekend), saying something about Lavinia; the words tumbling out of his mouth like bullets from one of those machine guns in France, shells lying everywhere.
"Mary is still in love with you."
Violet is speaking again. On the sanctity of marriage no less (oh the aristocracy, so sanctimonious), and he continues to sit.
Violet leaves, and the room smells of icicles and pot pourri, and he continues to sit.
The clock strikes eight and he continues to sit.
A voice calls his name and soft hands push his chair into the glaring light (so angry!) of the corridor beyond the door, and he continues to sit.
He sits through dinner and the general chatter afterwards, and when he finally returns to his room, he declines any assistance and remains in his chair, sitting.
(One wonders if he will ever stand again.)
"Mary is still in love with you."