Gender Readings. Top Ten. Ренц Т.Г - 13 стр.

  2          KATHERINE MANSFIELD
             THE SINGING LESSON

       With despair — cold, sharp despair-buried deep in her heart
like a wicked knife, Miss Meadows, in cap and gown and carrying a
little baton, trod the cold corridors that led to the music hall. Girls of
all ages, rosy from the air, and bubbling over with that gleeful excite-
ment that comes from running to school on a fine autumn morning,
hurried, ski pped, fluttered by; from the hollow classrooms came a
quick drumming of voices; a bell rang; a voice like a bird cried, “Muri-
el”. And then there came from the staircase a tremendous knock-
knock-knocking. Someone had dropped her dumbbells.
       The Science Mistress stopped Miss Meadows.
       “Good mor-ning,” she cried, in her sweet, affected drawl. “Isn’t
it cold? It might be win-ter.”
       Miss Meadows, hugging the knife, stared in hatred at the Sci-
ence Mistress. Everything about her was sweet, pale, like honey. You
would not have been surprised to see a bee caught in the tangles of that
yellow hair.
       “It is rather sharp,” said Miss Meadows, grimly.
       The other smiled her sugary smile.
       “You look fro-zen,” said she. Her blue eyes opened wide; there
came a mocking light in them. (Had she noticed anything?)
       “Oh, not quite as bad as that,” said Miss Meadows, and she
gave the Science Mistress, in exchange for her smile, a quick grimace
and passed on...
       Forms Four, Five and Six were assembled in the music hall. The
noise was deafening. On the platform, by the piano, stood Mary
Beazley, Miss Meadows’ favourite, who played accompaniments. She
was turning the music stool. When she saw Miss Meadows she gave a
loud, warning “Sh-sh! girls!” and Miss Meadows, her hands thrust in
her sleeves, the baton under her arm, strode down the centre aisle,
mounted the steps, urned sharply, seized the brass music stand,
planted it in front of her, and gave two sharp taps with her baton for
silence.
       “Silence, please! Immediately!” and, looking at nobody, her
glance swept over that sea of coloured flannel blouses, with bobbing

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