Good God! that head was now flattened out, and the child was
probably thrown back over the shoulders. Nothing remained of his
statue. He had not the strength to do or to think. He was like a
lay figure, without strength for anything, and if he were to hear
that an earthquake was shaking Dublin into ruins he would not
care. "Shake the whole town into the sea," he would have said.
The charwoman had closed the door, and he did not hear Lucy until
she was in the studio.
"I have come to tell you that I cannot sit again. But what has
happened?"
Rodney got up, and she could see that his misfortune was greater
than her's.
"Who has done this?" she said. "Your casts are all broken."
"Who, indeed, has done this?"
"Who broke them? What has happened? Tell me. They have broken the
bust you did of me. And the statue of the Virgin--has anything
happened to that?"
"The statue of the Virgin is a lump of clay. Oh, don't look at it.
I am out of my mind."
She took two or three steps forward.
"There it is," he said. "Don't speak about it, don't touch it."
"Something may be left."
"No, nothing is left. Don't look at me that way. I tell you
nothing is left. It is a lump of clay, and I cannot do it again. I
feel as if I never could do a piece of sculpture again, as if I
never wanted to. But what are you thinking of? You said just now
that you could not sit to me again. Tell me, Lucy, and tell me
quickly. I can see you know something about this. You suspect
someone.
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