She
cannot always expect to be an exception. At present she is learning
typewriting."
I gave a great start. "Typewriting!" I exclaimed.
"Yes," said my grandmother. "Is it not odd that she should have taken up
that? She has a machine, and practices steadily on it. She showed me
some of her printed sheets, and I must say, so far as I am concerned,
that I should prefer plain handwriting, where the letters are not so
likely to get on top of one another. She wanted to know if I could give
her any advice about getting work, when she thought she could do it well
enough; but of course I know nothing about such things. My hope is that
she will get to dislike that as much as she does nursing and apothecary
work, and to find out that her real duty is to live like an ordinary
human being, and so make herself and other people truly happy."
I do not know that there is any inherent connection between a
typewriting machine and the emotions and sentiments of love, but in this
case such a connection instantly established itself in my mind. It
seemed plain to me that Walkirk's suggestion to Sylvia had taken root;
and why did she wish to typewrite, if she did not wish to typewrite for
me? Was this an endeavor of her tender heart to keep up a thread of
connection with me which should not be inconsistent with the duties, the
vows, and the purposes of her life? Dear girl! If the thing could be
managed, she should typewrite for me as much as she wished, even if she
piled the letters on one another as high as the Great Pyramid.
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