df.theedge-第28部分

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shroom　at　the　end　of　the　car　and　climbing　up　to　her　bunk。
　　'I　guess　that　will　do；'　Daffodil　said；　shrugging　off　someone　else's　problem。　'Goodnight；　then；　and　thank　you　for　your　help。'
　　We　watched　her　sway　away　holding　on　to　the　rails；　her　high　curls　shining；　her　figure　neat；　her　intense　musky　scent　lingering　like　a　memory　in　the　air　after　she　herself　had　gone。　The　sleeping…car　attendant　sighed　deeply　at　so　much　opulent　femininity　and　philosophically　returned　to　his　roomette；　and　I　went　on　up　the　train　into　the　next　car；　where　my　own　bed　lay。
　　George　Burley's　door；　two　along　from　mine；　was　wide　open；　and　I　found　he　was　in　residence；　dressed　but　asleep；　quietly　snoring　in　his　armchair。　He　jerked　awake　as　if　with　a　sixth　sense　as　I　paused　in　his　doorway　and　said；　'What's　wrong；　eh？'
　　'Nothing　that　I　know　of；'　I　said。
　　'Oh；　it's　you。'
　　'I'm　sorry　I　woke　you。'
　　'I　wasn't　asleep。。。　well；　napping；　then。　I'm　used　to　that。　I've　been　on　the　railways　all　my　life；　eh？'
　　'A　love　affair？'　I　said。
　　'You　can　bet　your　life。'　He　rubbed　his　eyes；　yawning。　'In　the　old　days　there　were　many　big　railway　families。　Father　to　son。。。　cousins；　uncles。。。　it　got　handed　down。　My　father；　my　grandfather；　they　were　railwaymen。　But　my　sons；　eh？　They're　behind　desks　in　big　cities　tapping　at　puters。'　He　chuckled。　'They　run　the　railways　too　now　from　behind　desks；　eh？　They　sit　in　Montreal　making　decisions　and　they've　never　heard　a　train's　call　at　night　across　the　prairie。　They've　missed　all　that。　These　days　the　top　brass　fly　everywhere；　eh？'　His　eyes　twinkled。　Anyone　who　wasn't　a　wheels…on　railwayman　was　demonstrably　stupid。　'I'll　tell　you；'　he　said；　'I　hope　to　die　on　the　railways。'
　　'Not　too　soon；　though。'
　　'Not　before　White　River；　at　any　rate。'
　　I　said　goodnight　and　went　to　my　own　room　where　I　found　the　sleeping…car　attendant　had　duly　lowered　my　bed　and　laid　a　chocolate　truffle　on　the　pillow。
　　I　ate　the　chocolate。　Very　good。
　　I　took　off　the　yellow　waistcoat　with　its　white　lining　and　hung　it　on　a　hanger；　and　I　took　off　my　shoes；　but　rather　like　George　I　still　felt　myself　to　be　on　duty；　so　I　switched　off　the　light　and　lay　on　top　of　the　bedclothes　watching　the　black　Canadian　land　slide　by；　while　the　free　northern　show　went　on　above　for　hours　in　the　sky。　There　seemed　to　be　wide　horizontal　bands　of　light　which　slowly　changed　in　intensity；　with　brighter　spots　growing　and　fading　in　places　mysteriously　against　the　deeps　of　eternity。　It　was　peaceful　more　than　frenetic；　a　mirage　of　slow　dawns　and　sunsets　going　back　to　the　fluted　point　people：　humbling。　In　the　context　of　ten　thousand　years；　I　thought；　what　did　Filmer　and　his　sins　matter。　Yet　all　we　had　was　here　and　now；　and　here　and　now。。。　always　through　time。。。　was　where　the　struggle　towards　goodness　had　to　be　fought。　Towards　virtue；　morality；　uprightness；　order：　call　it　what　one　liked。　A　long；　ever…recurring　battle。
　　In　the　here　and　now　we　stopped　without　incident　at　White　River。　I　saw　George　outside　under　the　station　lights　and　watched　him　set　off　towards　the　rear　of　the　train。　Apparently　the　Lorrimores　were　still　safely　with　us　as　he　came　back　presently　without　haste　or　alarm；　and　after　a　while　the　train　made　its　usual　unobtrusive　departure　westwards。
　　I　slept　for　a　couple　of　hours　and　was　awakened　while　it　was　still　dark　by　a　gentle　rapping　on　my　door：　it　proved　to　be　Emil；　fully　dressed　and　apologetic。
　　'I　didn't　know　if　I　should　wake　you。　If　you　are　serious　about　this；　it　is　time　to　set　the　tables　for　breakfast。'
　　'I'm　serious；'　I　said。
　　He　smiled　with　seeming　satisfaction。　'It　is　much　easier　with　four　of　us。'
　　I　said　I　would　e　at　once　and　made　it；　washed；　shaved　and　tidy；　in　roughly　ten　minutes。　Oliver　and　Cathy　were　already　there；　wide　awake。　The　kitchen　was　rilled　with　glorious　smells　of　baking　and　Angus；　with　languid　largesse；　said　he　wouldn't　notice　if　we　ate　a　slice　or　two　of　his　raisin　bread；　or　of　his　apple　and　walnut。　Simone　said　dourly　that　we　were　not　to　eat　the　croissants　as　there　wouldn't　be　enough。　It　was　all　rather　like　school。
　　We　set　the　places；　put　fresh　water　and　carnations　in　bud　vases；　one　flower　to　each　table；　and　folded　pink　napkins　with　precision。　By　seven…fifteen；　the　first　breakfasters　were　addressing　themselves　to　eggs　Benedict　and　I　was　pouring　tea　and　coffee　as　to　the　service　born。
　　At　seven…thirty；　in　struggling　daylight；　we　stopped　briefly　in　a　place　identified　in　suitably　small　letters　on　the　small　station　as　Schreiber。
　　It　was　from　here；　I　reflected；　looking　through　the　windows　at　a　small　scattered　town；　that　the　despatcher　had　spoken　to　George　and　me　the　previous　evening：　and　while　I　watched；　George　appeared　outside　and　was　met　by　a　man　who　came　from　the　station。　They　conferred　for　a　while；　then　George　returned　to　the　train；　and　the　train　went　quietly　on　its　way。
　　A　spectacular　way：　all　through　breakfast；　the　track　ran　along　the　north　shore　of　Lake　Superior；　so　close　that　at　times　the　train　seemed　to　be　overhanging　the　water。　The　passengers　oohed　and　aahed；　the　Unwins　（Upper　Gumtree）　sitting　with　the　owners　of　Flokati；　the　Redi…Hots　with　a　couple　talking　incessantly　of　the　prowess　of　their　horse；　Wordmaster；　also　on　the　train。
　　Filmer　came　alone　to　sit　at　an　untenanted　table；　ordering　eggs　and　coffee　from　Oliver　without　looking　at　him。　Presently　the　Youngs　appeared　and　with　smiling　acquaintanceship　joined　Filmer。　I　wondered　if　he　thought　immediately　of　Ezra　Gideon；　the　Youngs'　dear　friend；　but　his　face　showed　nothing　but　politeness。
　　Xanthe　ambled　in　in　a　tousled　yawning　state　and　yesterday's　clothes　and　flopped　into　the　empty　chair　beside　Filmer。　Interestingly　he　made　no　attempt　to　save　the　seat　for　Daffodil；　but　seemed　to　echo　Mrs　Young's　enquiries　about　how　Xanthe　had　slept。
　　Like　a　log；　it　appeared；　although　she　seemed　to　regret　not　reporting　constant　nightmares。　Mr　Young　looked　bored；　as　if　he　had　tired　of　the　subject　a　long　time　ago；　but　his　wife　retained　her　sweet　forting　expression　without　any　visible　effort。
　　I　waited　with　hovering　impatience　for　Nell　to　arrive；　which　she　did　at　length　in　a　straight　black　skirt　（worse　and　worse）　with　a　prim　coffee　blouse　and　unobtrusive　gold　earrings。　She　had　drawn　her　fair　hair　high　into　an　elaborate　plait　down　the　back　of　her　head　and　fastened　it　at　the　bottom　with　a　wide　tortoiseshell　clasp：　it　looked　distinguished　and　petent；　but　nowhere　near　cuddly。
　　People　I　hadn't　yet　identified　beckoned　her　eagerly　to　join　them；　which　she　did　with　the　ravishing　smile　she　had　loosed　once　or　twice　in　my　direction。　She　told　Cathy　she　would　pass　on　the　eggs　but　would　like　croissants　and　coffee；　and　presently　I　was　bringing　them　to　her　as　she　sat　with　eyes　demurely　downwards；　studiously　ignoring　my　existence。　I　set　butter；　jam　and　breads　before　her。　I　poured　into　her　cup。　She　told　her　table　panions　it　was　nice　having　hand…picked　attendants　all　the　way　to　Vancouver。
　　I　knew　it　was　a　game　but　I　could　cheerfully　have　strangled　her。　I　didn't　want　them　noticing　me　even　a　little。　I　went　away　and　looked　back；　and　met　her　eyes；　which　were　laughing。　It　was　the　sort　of　look　between　us　which　would　have　started　alert　interest　in　me　if　I'd　spotted　it　between　others；　and　I　thought　I　was　near　to　losing　my　grip　on　what　I　was　supposed　to　be　doing；　and　that　I'd　better　be　more　careful。　I　hadn't　needed　to　serve　her：　I'd　taken　the　tray　from　Cathy。　Temptation　will　be　your　downfall；　Tor；　I　thought。
　　Except　for　Xanthe；　Mercer　was　the　only　Lorrimore　to　surface　for　breakfast；　and　he　came　not　to　eat　but　to　ask　Emil　to　send　trays　through　to　his　own　private　dining　room。　Emil　himself　and　Oliver　delivered　the　necessary；　although　Emil　on　his　return　said　he　hoped　this　wasn't　going　to　happen　at　lunch　and　dinner　also；　because　it　took　too　much　time。　Room　service　was　strictly　not　available；　yet　one　didn't　disoblige　the　Lorrimores　if　one　could　help　it。
　　Daffodil　arrived　after　everyone　else　with　each　bright　curl　in　place　and　pleasantly　sat　across　the　aisle　from　the　Filmer/Young　table；　asking　for　news　of　Xanthe's　night。　The　only　people　not　bothering　to　ask；　it　seemed；　were　the　near…victim's　own　family。　Xanthe　chattered　and　could　be　heard　telling　Daffodil　she　felt　snug　and　safe　behind　her　curtain。　The　next　time　I　went　slowly　past　their　table；　refill　coffee　pot　at　the　ready；　the　conversation　was　back　to　the　journey；　with　Xanthe　this　time　saying　she　basically　thought　horseracing　boring　and　she　wouldn't　have　e　on　this　trip　if　her　father　hadn't　made　her。
　　'How　did　he　make　you？'　Filmer　said　interestedly。
　　'Oh！'　She　sounded　suddenly　flustered　and　evaded　an　answer。　'He　made　Sheridan　e；　too。'
　　'But　why；　if　you　both　didn't　want　to？'　That　was　Daffodil's　voice；　behind　my　back。
　　'He　likes　us　where　he　can　see　us；　he　says。'　There　was　a　note　of　grudge　and　bitterness　but　also；　it　seemed　to　me；　a　realistic　acknowledgement　that　father　knew　best：　and　judging　from　Sheridan's　behaviour　to　date；　under　his　father's　long…suffering　eye　was　certainly　the　son's　safest　place。
　　The　conversation　faded　into　the　distance　and　I　paused　to　refill　the　Unwins'　cups；　where　the　talk　was　about　Upper　Gumtree　having　the　edge　over　Mercer's　Premiere　that　was　ing　to　Winnipeg　by　road。
　　George　Burley　pre