Театр

           Yourfathersaysthatifyou’regoingtobeabarristeryououghttoworkatlawwhenyougotoCambridge.Ontheotherhand,ifyoufancytheForeignOfficeyoushouldtakeupmodernlanguages."

           Helookedatherforsolong,withthatqueer,reflectiveairofhis,thatJuliahadsomedifficultyinholdingherlight,playfulandyetaffectionateexpression.

           "IfIbelievedinGodI’dbeapriest,"hesaidatlast.

           "Apriest?"

           Juliacouldhardlybelieveherears.Shehadafeelingofacutediscomfort.Buthisanswersankintohermindandinaflashshesawhimasacardinal,inhabitingabeautifulpalazzoinRome,filledwithwonderfulpictures,andsurroundedbyobsequious*prelates;andthenagainasasaint,inamitreandvestmentsheavilyembroideredwithgold,withbenevolentgesturesdistributingbreadtothepoor.Shesawherselfinabrocadeddressandstringofpearls.ThemotheroftheBorgias.

           "Thatwasallrightinthesixteenthcentury,"shesaid."It’stoolateinthedayforthat."

           "Much."

           "Ican’tthinkwhatputsuchanideainyourhead."Hedidnotanswer,sothatshehadtospeakagain."Aren’tyouhappy?"

           "Quite,"hesmiled.

           "Whatisityouwant?"

           Onceagainhegaveherhisdisconcertingstare.Itwashardtoknowifhewasserious,forhiseyesfaintlyshimmeredwithamusement.

           "Reality."

           "Whatdoyoumean?"

           "Yousee,I’velivedallmylifeinanatmosphereofmake-believe.Iwanttogetdowntobrasstacks.Youandfatherareallrightbreathingthisair,it’stheonlyairyouknowandyouthinkit’stheairofheaven.Itstiflesme."