Read While England Sleeps for Free Online Page B

week to a concert or a recital. I very much enjoy music. And every Sunday I go to the National Gallery and try to copy a painting, though I’m not very good at it. And I try to read three books a week. How many books a week do you read?”
    “It depends. Sometimes none.”
    “I could read a lot more than three except as I have to get up so early for work and sometimes my mum needs me to do work in the house. She’s got her hands full these days. Who’s your favorite author?”
    I pondered. “Shakespeare,” I said finally.
    “I’ve read Shakespeare,” Edward said. “ ‘When in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes / I all alone beweep my outcast state / And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries.’ I’ve memorized six of the sonnets.”
    “That’s very good. And who’s your favorite author?”
    “First, Charles Dickens. Second, Jules Verne. Third, I would have to say, is either Jane Austen or that American fellow Hemingway. I do like his books. But I couldn’t decide for third. I never can make up my mind. If my mum says, ‘Edward, which of these materials do you prefer for a tablecloth, the gingham or the lace,’ I say, ‘Mum, I like them both equal.’ ”
    “I can never make up my mind either,” I said, and smiled. He looked across the room at me, as if the tenderness in my voice surprised him, but he did not turn away from it or change the subject. I supposed he was suddenly realizing that I could be falling in love with him and not just wanting to use his body, and was finding, to his surprise, that this knowledge pleased him.
    A needle of light from the narrow window pierced his eyes, which were suddenly moist. Then he turned away, toward the books, and ran his hand through his hair. He still had his shirt off. Spots rose on the upper cords of his back.
    “I could visit you again, maybe,” he said. “After work. We could talk more about books. This week I’m reading Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea, The Murder of Roger Ackroyd and Central Line Tube Stock: An Illustrated History . The last one’s different, though. That’s for work.”
    I stepped toward him and handed him a card on which I’d scribbled my address. He took it. Our lips grazed.
    “And how will you get back tonight?” I asked.
    “The underground.”
    “It’s a long way.” Reaching into my wallet, I removed a pound note and handed it to him. “Why not take a cab?”
    “I don’t want your money,” he said, stepping back from me.
    “I’m sorry, I just thought—”
    “You think I just did this for money? I’m not like that.”
    Hurriedly he pulled on his shirt and buttoned it, gathered his jacket and satchel.
    “I’m sorry, Edward,” I said. “I only wanted to give you the money so you could take a cab—”
    “The tube’ll be just fine, thank you.”
    “You know, if it’s ever late and you’re too tired to go home, you’re welcome to stay here.”
    “No, no, that would never do,” he answered swiftly. “My mum would miss me.”
    “Well, then, I do hope you’ll come again.” I didn’t know what else to say.
    He looked at me, though guardedly.
    “You have very green eyes,” I said. “Very beautiful.”
    “So are yours,” he said.
    “Really?”
    “Beautiful. Not green. I think you’re very handsome, but then everyone must tell you that.”
    “No, no, they don’t do. I’m glad you think so.”
    We both blushed. I kissed him. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and he looked at me, and I guided his hand to my erection, which he squeezed.
    Then he pulled his hand away.
    “What brought you to that meeting?” he asked.
    I thought about it for a moment. “I suppose,” I said finally, “it’s because I lived in Germany for two years. I’ve seen what the Nazis can do. And I don’t feel I can stand by, the way most people in this country seem prepared to do, while Hitler takes over Europe. But if the forces of democracy could win in Spain—well, don’t you think it would make things a lot