Beowulf

by Bryher;

  “Could you try to rest?” Selina looked up; she had never realized before that the Colonel was so old. He was arranging her shawl about her shoulders, and she did not mind that the shell-pink lining was covered with black smudges. “If you cared to use my flat until you can make other arrangements I should be delighted. They tell me my street is intact.”

  “It is really very kind of you.”

  “Not at all, it is a help to me to feel that I am of use.”

  She would never have to wake up again and worry about the rent. Only it was so strange; it wasn’t two hours since she had dragged Horatio down those solid, century-old stairs. She seemed to feel the Warming Pan in her fingers, hear its creaks and noises, but it had gone, and in a little while she would be the only person to remember it. “You’re wonderful,” Eve said, “wonderful, but you must get out of London. Would you like to go to my sisters in the country?”

  Selina shook her head. “It’s silly, I suppose, but I have got to stay on here in my own village.” She smiled at them both and at the nice child with the fair hair that had come round again with yet another tray.

  “Have a cup of tea,” her neighbour suggested, and he patted her arm.

  “No, thank you, Colonel Ferguson; people are so kind, I seem to have been drinking tea all the evening. There is a war on, you know!” It was one of the stock Warming Pan jokes, and she looked up for approval. They stared back at her so seriously that she felt quite puzzled. “Oh, dear,” she said, for she felt suddenly quite helpless, “I do think it is very embarrassing to be bombed.”