Free The Three-Body Problem by Catherine Shaw Page B

away, reached down my volume of Shakespeare’s plays, and turned to the casket scene. In a moment I had found the speech he was quoting. It was Portia’s speech to Bassanio. My eyes followed the lines, and as he paused, I continued it, although it cost me a strange effort.
    ‘But the full sum of me
    Is sum of something which, to term in gross,
    Is an unlessoned girl, unschool’d, unpractis’d;
    Happy in this, she is not yet so old
    But she may learn; happier than this,
    She is not bred so dull but she can learn.’
    The words were infinitely more powerful than any of our own could ever be. It seemed impossible to add to them. We remained silent, gazing into the fire for a long time, which was yet too short. Suddenly, without warning, he sprang to his feet.
    ‘Of course!’ he said. ‘I have it! How could I not have thought of it before?’
    ‘What, what is it?’ I asked anxiously.
    ‘The proof! Yes – it all works!’ And he made a sudden dash for the door.
    ‘Wait – your overcoat, your hat!’ I called out quickly.
    He stopped in his tracks.
    ‘Oh, I am s-s-sorry,’ he said. ‘How rude of me to be so absent-minded. I had entirely forgotten where I was – I became lost in mathematical ideas. It is strange – all of a sudden, I saw how to accomplish something which has been eluding me for weeks!’ He returned towards me, holding out his hand, and thanked me warmly for the tea.
    ‘I am glad you had a moment to dry before returning to your mathematics, and to your nocturnal pacing,’ I told him, smiling.
    ‘Pacing? Oh yes. Do you hear me? I am very sorry! I never thought of it. But never fear, I shall not pace tonight. I do it only when my reflections are not proving fruitful. Tonight they are, thanks to you, thanks to Shakespeare.’ And he slipped out, his head aswirl, I imagine, with theorems and propositions, lemmas and corollaries.
    The very next day, Mrs Burke-Jones departed for France with Mr Morrison and Emily in tow; they are to return only today. I have thought of them a great deal in these last three days. I shall write to you again, just as soon as something interesting transpires.
    Yours ever,
    Vanessa
Cambridge, Monday, April 16th, 1888
    My dearest little sister,
    I have just returned home from tea with Emily; in spite of all that has happened this last week, Mrs Burke-Jones allowedher to continue our new habit of tea on Monday, as she so strongly wished it. Emily was bursting with the need to pour out her woes; I do not believe anybody really listens to them at home, and she cannot talk to me intimately during lessons.
    ‘Oh, Miss Duncan, Miss Duncan, what do you think? You cannot believe all that has happened,’ she began almost as soon as I settled down in front of the teapot. ‘Edmund has been sent home from school; he arrived yesterday, and he is dreadfully ill! But I believe it is not just illness, for the letter said that the school was found to be unsuitable for him, and that he is not to come back ever. Mother is furious, but she does not know what to be furious about really, for no one has told us what he has been expelled for. The letter did not say, and Edmund will not say anything to Mother either, no matter how much she presses him. Oh, Miss Duncan, I cannot help rejoicing really, now that Edmund is home again. I do hope he will stay forever. I believe he will tell me what really happened, sooner or later.’
    ‘You must take very good care of him,’ I told her, thinking of the frail little blonde child I had briefly laid eyes on at the dinner party. ‘It will be a great joy to you, once he gets well again.’
    ‘But then, the most dreadful thing happened in France,’ she went on, unable to contain her emotions. ‘Oh, Miss Duncan, we actually saw the little boy, Father’s son, who lived in France with him! He looks just like Edmund used to … they look the way I remember my father, too – he was slim and blonde. I don’t look like him at all; I resemble Mother. The