I've helped many a
lame dog over a stile.... That's partly how you came into
existence--almost the only time I've ever been in love--Many years
ago--why, girl, you must be--getting on for thirty-five--let me see
... (muses). Yes, it was in the winter of '73-74. I'd bin at Ostende
with a young barrister from London ... him I told you about once,
who used to write plays, and we came on to Brussels because he had
some business with the Belgian Government. He left me pretty much to
myself just then, though quite open-handed, don't you know.... One
day I was walking through one of the poorer streets where the people
was very Flemish, and I stood looking up at an old doorway--Dunno'
why--S'pose I thought it picturesque--reminded me of Praddy's
drawin's. And an old woman comes up and says in French, 'Madame est
Anglaise?' In those days I couldn't hardly speak a word o' French,
but I said 'Oui.' Then she wants me to come upstairs but I thought
it was some trap. However as far as I could make out there was a
young Irishman there, she said, lying very sick of a fever and
seemingly had no friends.
"Well: I took down the address and the next day I came there with
the concierge of the hotel where we were staying, and under his
protection we went upstairs. My! it was a beastly place--and your
poor father--for he _was_ your father--was tossing about and raving,
with burning cheeks and huge eyes, just like yours.
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