Читать книгу Ireland in Travail онлайн

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I was trying to be cheerful too; but it was the middle of the night and very cold, and I had lost a husband.

A soft cloud of steam rose from the engine of the train that had just disgorged me.

All along the platform were weary passengers and flashing lamps. A silk stocking slid to the platform from my suitcase. The stooping Customs man bumped his finger on a darning-needle and muttered under his breath. A little farther along the platform I could see a woman burdened with a baby struggling to shut an over full portmanteau.

“Why are you going to Ireland?” grumbled the man with the lamp. “Last place to live in. Right. Next, please. One minute, Paddy. What’s in that parcel?”

A youth who was trying to slip through the crowd stood sullenly.

I was jostled up a gangway by the moving people, still clutching my keys.

The boat was crowded. It seemed impossible that any one else could get on, and there were hundreds to come.

My belated husband had deserted me in the confusion. I picked him up presently on the boat.