Welcome to sleep stories with Steph your go-to podcast.
That offers you a calm and relaxing transition.
Into a great night's sleep.
It is time to relax and fully let go.
There is nothing you need to be doing now.
And know where you need to go.
Close your eyes.
And feel yourself sink into the support beneath you.
And let all the worries of the day go.
Drift away.
This is your time.
And your space.
Take a deep breath in through your nose.
And let it out with a long sigh.
That's it!
There is nothing you need to be doing now.
And know where you need to go.
Happy listening.
Chapter 10 Cecil as a humorist the society out of which Cecil proposed to rescue Lucy.
Was perhaps no very splendid affair.
Yet it was more splendid than her antecedents entitled her to.
Her father,
A prosperous local solicitor,
Had built Winty Corner as a speculation at the time the district was opening up and falling in love with his own creation had ended by living there himself.
Soon after his marriage,
The social atmosphere began to alter.
Other houses were built on the brow of that steep southern slope and others again among the pine trees behind and northward on the chalk barrier of the Downs.
Most of these houses were larger than Windy Corner and were filled by people who came not from the district but from London and who mistook the honey churches for the remnants of an indigenous aristocracy.
He was inclined to be frightened,
But his wife accepted the situation without pride or humility.
I can't see.
What people are doing,
She would say,
But it is extremely fortunate for the children.
By the time people found out,
She was not exactly of their meilleur.
They liked her and it did not seem to matter.
When Mr.
Honeychurch died,
He had the satisfaction,
Which few honest solicitors despise,
Of leaving his family rooted in the best society obtainable.
Certainly many of the immigrants were rather dull,
And Lucy realised this more vividly since her return from Italy.
Hitherto she had accepted their ideals without questioning.
Their kindly affluence,
Their inexplosive religion,
Their dislike of paper bags,
Orange peel and broken bottles.
A radical out and out,
She learned to speak with horror of suburbia.
Life,
So far as she troubled to conceive it,
Was a circle of rich,
Pleasant people with identical interests and identical foes.
In this circle one thought married and died.
Outside it were poverty and vulgarity forever trying to enter,
Just as the London fog tries to enter the pine woods pouring through the gaps in the northern hills.
But in Italy,
Where anyone who chooses may warm himself in equality as in the sun,
This conception of life vanished.
Her senses expanded.
She felt there was no one whom she might not get to like.
That social barriers were immovable,
Doubtless,
But not particularly high.
You jump over them as you jump into a peasant's olive yard.
And he is glad to see you.
She had returned with new eyes.
So did Cecil,
But Italy had quickened Cecil,
Not to tolerance but to irritation.
He saw the local society was narrow,
But instead of saying,
Does that very much matter?
He rebelled and tried to substitute for it the society he called broad.
He did not realise Lucy had consecrated her environment by the thousand little civilities that created tenderness in time.
And that though her eyes saw its defects,
Her heart refused to despise it entirely.
Nor did he realise a more important point.
That if she was too great for this society,
She was too great for all society,
And she had reached the stage where personal intercourse would alone satisfy her.
A rebel she was.
But not of the kind he understood.
A revel who desired not a wider dwelling room.
But equality beside the man she loved.
For Italy was offering her the most priceless of all possessions.
Her own soul.
Playing bumble puppy with Mini B.
Niece to the Rector and age 13,
An ancient and most honourable game which consists in striking tennis balls high into the air so they fall over their necks.
They moderately bounce.
Some hit Mrs Honeychurch.
Others were lost.
The sentence is confused but better illustrates Lucy's state of mind,
For she was trying to talk to Mr.
Beeb at the same time.
First he,
Then they,
No one knowing what they wanted and everyone so tiresome.
But they are really coming now,
" said Mr.
Beeb.
She was wondering often how the butcher called,
And my reply once a month must have impressed her favourably.
They are coming.
I heard from them this morning.
I shall hate those Miss Allens,
" Mrs.
Honeychurch cried,
Just because they're old and silly and one's expected to say,
How sweet.
I hate their iffing and butting and anding.
Did poor Lucy serve her right worn to a shadow?
Mr B watched the shadow springing and shouting over the tennis court.
Cecil was absent.
One did not play bumble puppy when he was there.
Who are the Misalans?
Freddy panted.
They've taken Sissy Villa.
That wasn't the name.
Here his foot slipped and they all fell most agreeably onto the grass.
Wasn't what name?
Asked Lucy with her brother's head in her lap.
Alan wasn't the name of the people Sir Harry's led to.
Nonsense,
Freddy.
You know nothing about it.
Nonsense yourself!
I've this minute seen him.
He said to me,
Ahem,
Honeychurch.
Ahem.
I have at last procured really desirable tenants.
And I said.
.
.
Hooray old boy!
And I slapped him on the back.
Exactly!
The Miss Silence.
Said Freddy,
Rather not.
More like Anderson.
Oh good gracious,
Mrs Honeychurch exclaimed,
There isn't going to be another model is there?
Do you notice,
Lucy,
I'm always right?
I said don't interfere with Sissy Villa.
I'm always right.
I'm quite uneasy at being so right so often.
It's just another model of Freddy's,
" said Lucy.
He doesn't even know the name of the people he pretends have taken it instead.
Yes,
I do.
I've got it.
Emerson.
Emerson.
I'll bet you anything you like.
I wish I'd never bothered over it at all.
Said Lucy quietly.
Then she lay on her back and gazed at the cloudless sky.
Mr Beeb,
Whose opinion of Lucy rose daily,
Whispered to his niece that was the proper way to behave if any little thing went wrong.
Meanwhile,
The name of the new tenants diverted Mrs Honeychurch from the contemplation of her own abilities.
Emerson,
Freddie.
Do you know what Emerson's they are?
I don't know whether there are any Emersons,
" retorted Freddie,
Who was Democratic.
Like his sister and most young people,
He was naturally attracted by the idea of equality and the undeniable fact there were different kinds of Emersons annoyed him beyond measure.
I trust they're the right sort of person.
Alright Lucy?
Lucy was sitting up again.
I see you looking down your nose and thinking a mother's a snob,
But there's a right sort and a wrong sort,
Dear,
And it's affectation to pretend there isn't.
Emerson's a common enough name,
Lucy remarks.
She was gazing sideways.
Seated on a promontory herself,
She could see the pine-clad promontories descending one beyond another into the Weald.
I was going to remark,
Freddy,
I trusted they were no relations of Emerson the philosopher,
A most trying man.
Does that satisfy you?
Oh yes,
" he grumbled,
And you'll be satisfied too for they're friends of Cecil.
So,
Elaborate irony,
You and the other country families will be able to call in perfect safety.
Cecil exclaimed Lucy.
Don't be rude,
Dear.
Said their mother placidly.
Lucy don't screech,
It's a new bad habit you're getting into.
But has Cecil?
Friends of Cecil's,
Freddie repeated.
And so really desirable.
Lucy got up from the grass.
Mr.
Beebe sympathized with her very much.
While she believed her snub about the Miss Allens came from Sir Harry Otway,
She had borne it like a good girl.
She might well screech when she heard it came partly from her lover.
Mr Vise was a tease,
Something worse than a tease.
He took a malicious pleasure in thwarting people.
Mr B,
Knowing this,
Looked at Miss Honeychurch with more than his usual kindness.
When she exclaimed,
But Cecil's Emersons,
They can't possibly be the same ones.
He did not consider the exclamation was strange,
But saw in it an opportunity of diverting the conversation while she recovered her composure.
The Emersons who were at Florence,
Do you mean?
" he asked.
I don't suppose it will prove to be them.
It's probably a long cry from them to Friends of Mr Vizes.
Oh,
Mrs.
Honeychurch,
The oddest people,
The queerest people they were.
But for our part,
We quite liked them,
Didn't we?
He appealed to Lucy.
There was a great scene over some violets.
They picked violets and filled all the vases in the room of these very Miss Allens who have failed to come to Sissy Villa.
Poor little ladies,
So shocked and so pleased.
My dear sister loves flowers,
Was Miss Catherine's great story.
They found the whole room a mass of blue vases and jugs.
So ungentlemanly and yet so beautiful,
They said.
Fiasco's done you this time,
Marked Freddy.
Not seeing his sister's face was very red.
She could not recover herself.
Mr Beeve saw it and continued to divert the conversation.
Those particular Emersons consisted of father and son.
The son of goodly,
If not a good young man.
Not a fool I fancy,
But very immature.
Pessimism,
Etc.
Our special joy was the father,
Such a sentimental darling.
People declared he'd murdered his wife.
In his normal state,
Mr.
B would never have repeated such gossip.
But he was trying to shelter Lucy in her little trouble.
He repeated any rubbish that came into his head.
Murdered his wife,
" said Mrs.
Honeychurch.
Lucy,
Don't desert us,
Go on playing bumble puppy.
Really,
The pension Bertolini must have been the oddest place.
That's the second murder I've heard of his being there.
What's Charlotte doing to stop it?
By the by,
We really must ask Charlotte here sometime.
Then we can find out the truth.