The Moving Finger Read Online Free Page A

and be able to fly again, or will you always be a bit of a crock?”
    â€œMy doctor says I shall be quite all right.”
    â€œYes, but is he the kind of man who tells lies?”
    â€œI don’t think so,” I replied. “In fact, I’m quite sure of it. I trust him.”
    â€œThat’s all right then. But a lot of people do tell lies.”
    I accepted this undeniable statement of fact in silence.
    Megan said in a detached judicial kind of way:
    â€œI’m glad. I was afraid you looked bad tempered because you were crocked up for life—but if it’s just natural, it’s different.”
    â€œI’m not bad tempered,” I said coldly.
    â€œWell, irritable, then.”
    â€œI’m irritable because I’m in a hurry to get fit again—and these things can’t be hurried.”
    â€œThen why fuss?”
    I began to laugh.
    â€œMy dear girl, aren’t you ever in a hurry for things to happen?”
    Megan considered the question. She said:
    â€œNo. Why should I be? There’s nothing to be in a hurry about. Nothing ever happens.”
    I was struck by something forlorn in the words. I said gently: “What do you do with yourself down here?”
    She shrugged her shoulders.
    â€œWhat is there to do?”
    â€œHaven’t you got any hobbies? Do you play games? Have you got friends round about?”
    â€œI’m stupid at games. And I don’t like them much. There aren’t many girls round here, and the ones there are I don’t like. They think I’m awful.”
    â€œNonsense. Why should they?”
    Megan shook her head.
    â€œDidn’t you go to school at all?”
    â€œYes, I came back a year ago.”
    â€œDid you enjoy school?”
    â€œIt wasn’t bad. They taught you things in an awfully silly way, though.”
    â€œHow do you mean?”
    â€œWell—just bits and pieces. Chopping and changing from one thing to the other. It was a cheap school, you know, and the teachers weren’t very good. They could never answer questions properly.”
    â€œVery few teachers can,” I said.
    â€œWhy not? They ought to.”
    I agreed.
    â€œOf course I’m pretty stupid,” said Megan. “And such a lot of things seem to me such rot. History, for instance. Why, it’s quite different out of different books!”
    â€œThat is its real interest,” I said.
    â€œAnd grammar,” went on Megan. “And silly compositions. And all the blathering stuff Shelley wrote, twittering on about skylarks,and Wordsworth going all potty over some silly daffodils. And Shakespeare.”
    â€œWhat’s wrong with Shakespeare?” I inquired with interest.
    â€œTwisting himself up to say things in such a difficult way that you can’t get at what he means. Still, I like some Shakespeare.”
    â€œHe would be gratified to know that, I’m sure,” I said.
    Megan suspected no sarcasm. She said, her face lighting up:
    â€œI like Goneril and Regan, for instance.”
    â€œWhy these two?”
    â€œOh, I don’t know. They’re satisfactory, somehow. Why do you think they were like that?”
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œLike they were. I mean something must have made them like that?”
    For the first time I wondered. I had always accepted Lear’s elder daughters as two nasty bits of goods and had let it go at that. But Megan’s demand for a first cause interested me.
    â€œI’ll think about it,” I said.
    â€œOh, it doesn’t really matter. I just wondered. Anyway, it’s only English Literature, isn’t it?”
    â€œQuite, quite. Wasn’t there any subject you enjoyed?”
    â€œOnly Maths.”
    â€œMaths?” I said, rather surprised.
    Megan’s face had lit up.
    â€œI loved Maths. But it wasn’t awfully well taught. I’d like to be taught Maths really well. It’s heavenly. I think there’s