The Millstone

The Millstone

Margaret Drabble

Language: English

Pages: 192

ISBN: 0156006197

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

Margaret Drabble’s affecting novel, set in London during the 1960s, about a casual love affair, an unplanned pregnancy, and one young woman’s decision to become a mother.














looked at my watch. It was half past sue. I did not feel that I ought to start at half past six, and yet there did not seem to be anything else to do: I could not see myself settling down to a couple of hours' work. Nor did I think I should have anything to eat, though I was rather hungry. So I walked up and down the hall corridor for a while, and was just going into the bedroom to get undressed when the doorbell rang. I started nervously, as though caught out in an act of crime, and yet with a

will she ever know when it's nighttime? How will she ever learn that it's night?" "I should feed her," said Lydia. "It looks to me as though she's going to have a fit." I didn't think she would have a fit, but I couldn't stand the sound of her crying, so I picked her out and fed her, and she became quiet at once, and fell asleep afterwards looking as though her mattress and nightdress were very comfortable after all. On the other hand, she did wake half an hour early at the next feed, and went

of the question." "I don't care what you told me," I said. "I want to see my baby. If you don't take me straight there, I shall walk round until I find the way myself. She's not kept under lock and key, I assume?" "Mrs. Stacey," said Sister, "you are behaving most foolishly, and I must ask you to leave at once." "I won't leave," I said. "You'd much better take me straight there, I don't want to be compelled to wander round upsetting the whole of your hospital until I find my baby." "Now then,

to crawl along the corridor while I went to see if Lydia was in; I had not heard her come in the night before, but if she was in I wanted to tell her about what my father had said, and to discuss its moral quality with her. I knocked on her door and there was no answer; as it was past ten, I pushed it open to see if she was there, which she was not. I went back to the kitchen and did a little washing and tidying up, and then went into the sitting room and got out my typewriter to write a review

where I did, so near Broadcasting House, we were forever crossing paths in Upper Regent Street or along Wigmore Street. Sometimes we met in a pub of which he was clearly an habitué, and which Joe and I took to for a while. It was a nice pub, so I took Roger there too one night. Once we met, George and I, to our mutual surprise, at a party. I used to enjoy meeting him, because he always seemed pleased to see me, and used to make lovely remarks. "You're looking very lovely this evening, Rosamunda,"

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