The opportunity came a week later, on that never-to-be-forgotten
Friday. Of course it was a Friday.
I ought to have been specially careful on a Friday, she used to say
afterwards to her husband, while perhaps Nana was on the other side of
her, holding her hand.
No, no, Mr. Darling always said, I am responsible for it all. I,
George Darling, did it. _Mea culpa, mea culpa_. He had had a classical
education.
They sat thus night after night recalling that fatal Friday, till every
detail of it was stamped on their brains and came through on the other
side like the faces on a bad coinage.
If only I had not accepted that invitation to dine at 27, Mrs.
Darling said.
If only I had not poured my medicine into Nana s bowl, said Mr.
Darling.
If only I had pretended to like the medicine, was what Nana s wet
eyes said.
My liking for parties, George.
My fatal gift of humour, dearest.
My touchiness about trifles, dear master and mistress.
Then one or more of them would break down altogether; Nana at the
thought, It s true, it s true, they ought not to have had a dog for a
nurse. Many a time it was Mr. Darling who put the handkerchief to
Nana s eyes.
That fiend! Mr. Darling would cry, and Nana s bark was the echo of
it, but Mrs. Darling never upbraided Peter; there was something in the
right-hand corner of her mouth that wanted her not to call Peter names.
They would sit there in the empty nursery, recalling fondly every
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