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Lawrence, D. H. (David Herbert), 1885-1930

"England, My England"

He is delighted with his son, my little
brother, and wishes to have him named after you, because you were so good
to us all in that terrible time, which I shall never forget. I must weep
now when I think of it. Well, you are far away in England, and perhaps I
shall never see you again. How did you find your dear mother and father?
I am so happy that your wound is better, and that you can nearly walk--'
'How did he find his dear _wife!_' cried Mrs. Goyte. 'He never told her
he had one. Think of taking the poor girl in like that!'
'We are so pleased when you write to us. Yet now you are in England you
will forget the family you served so well--'
'A bit too well--eh, _Joey!_' cried the wife.
'If it had not been for you we should not be alive now, to grieve and to
rejoice in this life, that is so hard for us. But we have recovered some
of our losses, and no longer feel the burden of poverty. The little
Alfred is a great comfort to me. I hold him to my breast and think of the
big, good Alfred, and I weep to think that those times of suffering were
perhaps the times of a great happiness that is gone for ever.'
'Oh, but isn't it a shame, to take a poor girl in like that!' cried Mrs.
Goyte. 'Never to let on that he was married, and raise her hopes--I call
it beastly, I do.'
'You don't know,' I said. 'You know how anxious women are to fall in
love, wife or no wife. How could he help it, if she was determined to
fall in love with him?'
'He could have helped it if he'd wanted.


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