giovedì 6 dicembre 2018

Magistrale 1 - material for Friday,7th December

Print off passage below for  Friday's lesson.


The air felt heavy, sweetish, as if the rooms were permanently inhabited by genteel  women, and the windows never opened. And Mrs Durrant gave the same impression, of exhausted but cherished womanhood. Instinctively,  Mrs  Marsh, who  had had a vigorous marriage, looked around for signs,  even  relics , of  a man, but (5) found none. Her eye met only a rack containing fashion magazines,  and library books,  which, from their covers, looked as if they  had been  written  by  women. Yet Mrs Durrant was still attractive and must once have been  a beauty .She had an intimate way of taking , was fulsome in her gratitude,  was, in fact,  pleasing,  even intriguing. She had a soft voice, beautifully tended hands with rosy polished nails. (10) One of those hands had been laid on Mrs Marsh’s much  larger rougher one ,  with its plain gold band. “ Don’t go,” said Ms Durrant. “ my daughter will  make us some tea.” She padded over the pink  and blue carpet to  the door. “Anna! Anna darling! Will you make us some tea, dear? I want you to meet Mrs. Marsh.” The sound of a sewing machine,  so  faint,  that  it hardly registered as such, stopped  (15) abruptly. Ten  minutes later Anna Durrant had come in with tea things on  a black japanned tray. Mrs Marsh noticed her kingfisher- blue suit, in  fine tweed, which  she admired. “Anna makes all  her own  clothes,” said Mrs. Durrant proudly. Then  the two women  fell greedily into  exchanging the stories of their lives,  for such  an  encounter was not to  be wasted. In fact Mrs. Marsh  was adept at dealing (20) out the few facts  she was willing to  make public  -  the dead husband, one daughter,  one son -  knowing that  this was the appropriate currency for a person  of her age and type,  but  actually too  curious about this affecting woman with her old- fashioned flowery elegance and her general  air of bewilderment to  waste time on herself.
                                                                 Fraud, Anita Brookner

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