The Forsyte Saga - Volume 1

"I knew how it'd be; I told you she wouldn't last through the summer."

Aunt Hester made no reply; it was nearly October, but what was the good

of arguing; some people were never satisfied.

She sent up to tell her sister that the brothers were there. Mrs. Small

came down at once. She had bathed her face, which was still swollen, and

though she looked severely at Swithin's trousers, for they were of light

blue--he had come straight from the club, where the news had reached

him--she wore a more cheerful expression than usual, the instinct for

doing the wrong thing being even now too strong for her.

Presently all five went up to look at the body. Under the pure white

sheet a quilted counter-pane had been placed, for now, more than ever,

Aunt Ann had need of warmth; and, the pillows removed, her spine and

head rested flat, with the semblance of their life-long inflexibility;

the coif banding the top of her brow was drawn on either side to the

level of the ears, and between it and the sheet her face, almost as

white, was turned with closed eyes to the faces of her brothers and

sisters. In its extraordinary peace the face was stronger than ever,

nearly all bone now under the scarce-wrinkled parchment of skin--square

jaw and chin, cheekbones, forehead with hollow temples, chiselled

nose--the fortress of an unconquerable spirit that had yielded to death,

and in its upward sightlessness seemed trying to regain that spirit, to

regain the guardianship it had just laid down.

Swithin took but one look at the face, and left the room; the sight,

he said afterwards, made him very queer. He went downstairs shaking the

whole house, and, seizing his hat, clambered into his brougham, without

giving any directions to the coachman. He was driven home, and all the

evening sat in his chair without moving.

He could take nothing for dinner but a partridge, with an imperial pint

of champagne....

Old Jolyon stood at the bottom of the bed, his hands folded in front of

him. He alone of those in the room remembered the death of his mother,

and though he looked at Ann, it was of that he was thinking. Ann was

an old woman, but death had come to her at last--death came to all! His

face did not move, his gaze seemed travelling from very far.

Aunt Hester stood beside him. She did not cry now, tears were

exhausted--her nature refused to permit a further escape of force; she

twisted her hands, looking not at Ann, but from side to side, seeking

some way of escaping the effort of realization.