He had a
feeling as though six disembodied Bonbright Footes stood about in an
agony of anxiety, watching to see what he would do as he took the
emblematical paper in his hands. He tore it very slowly, tore it
again and again into ribbons and into squares, and let them flutter
into his wastebasket. ... If others had been present to assert that
they heard a groan he would not have denied it, for the ancestors
were very real to him then... their presence was a definite fact.
"There..." he said. The king was dead. Long live the king!
It was after that he had his talk with his mother. Perhaps he was
abrupt, but he dreaded that talk. Perhaps his diplomacy was faulty or
lacking. Perhaps he made mistakes and failed to rise to the
requirements of the conditions and of his relationship with her. He
did his best.
"Mother," he said, "we must talk things over."
She sat silently, waiting for him to speak.
"Whatever you wish," he said, "I shall do... if I can."
"There is a qualification?" she said.
Pages:
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453