The Young Clementina by D. E. Stevenson Page A

for good or ill and I would be free to settle down again in my old rut. I was so tired by this time that all I wanted was to be left alone, and I knew that, once the case was over, Kitty would leave me alone; she would have no further use for me. I did not feel the least bitter about this, I simply accepted it as a foregone conclusion, and was glad to think that I should be free. Once her fate was decided she would not require me to lean upon and she would drift out of my life again.
    I awoke in the morning with a dull pain in my head, and a strange lassitude in every limb. It was raining hard and the air felt thick and difficult to breathe. I had got a holiday from Wentworth’s for the occasion so I rose a little later than my usual hour. This made the day seem like Sunday and my brain was so dazed and befuddled that I found myself thinking what a strange thing it was that the Divorce Courts should be open on a Sunday. I only tell you this, Clare, so that you may understand what a queer state I was in. I tried to remember all the things that Mr. Corrieston had told me to say, but I could remember nothing except the milk—I was to be sure and say that the milk I had left for Kitty’s morning tea had been finished and that half my loaf of bread had gone. It was true, of course, I remembered about the milk distinctly, because I had been a little surprised at the time; Kitty always used to take her morning cup of tea with lemon in it (she was never very fond of milk) but twelve years is a long time and Kitty had changed so much in other ways that it was ridiculous to expect her tastes to remain unaltered. Except for the milk, which I remembered perfectly, there were queer gaps in my brain—and the more I struggled to fill them the more bewildered I became—and there are queer gaps in my memory of what happened on that day. When I look back now the whole day is like a nightmare, fantastic and illusive. I can see myself having breakfast in the flat, and washing up the dishes, and putting on my hat in front of the tiny mirror in my bedroom, and the next thing I remember is sitting next to Kitty in court listening to Garth’s counsel’s opening speech.
    (I suppose I was really ill, worn out with the strain of preceding weeks—an emotional strain and a physical strain combined. The whole affair had upset me terribly and I had no leisure to recover from the blow. Not only had I Kitty to soothe and sustain but I had my work at Wentworth’s to carry out as usual—work which demanded its usual quota of time and energy. When Kitty usurped my usual reading hours I had to read far into the night to keep abreast of the new books which came out almost daily—it was no wonder that I was near breaking-point with the strain. In addition to all this I had contracted a germ and was sickening for ’flu. I did not realize this at the time; I only felt that I was wrapped in a kind of fog through which I had to grope my way. Faces appeared and disappeared confusedly, voices were startlingly loud at one moment, and, at the next, so faint and far away that I had to strain my ears to hear them.)
    I looked about me in a dazed way; the court was crowded with all sorts and conditions of people—it was strange that so many people should be interested in Garth’s and Kitty’s unfortunate affairs. The courtroom was high and slightly Gothic in appearance, red curtains hung behind the Judge’s chair. I looked at the Judge with interest. I thought he had a fine face, strong and kind, but he looked weary and disillusioned. It must be a tiring and disillusioning job to listen every day to tales of unhappy marriages and shipwrecked hopes. The jury, on the other hand, looked fresh and eager, this was an event in their lives, not an everyday duty, and I could see that they were feeling pleased and important, all except one man who sat at the end of the front row leaning his head on his hand in an attitude