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had been no escape She hated so e

The house was a storm of movement The children were healthy

and turbulent, the

To Ursula, as she grew a little older, it becahtmare

When she saw, later, a Rubens picture with storms of naked

babies, and found this was called "Fecundity", she shuddered,

and the world became abhorrent to her She knew as a child what

it was to live amidst storms of babies, in the heat and swelter

of fecundity And as a child, she was against her ainst her mother, she craved for some

spirituality and stateliness

In bad weather, home was a bedlam Children dashed in and out

of the rain, to the puddles under the disstones of the kitchen, whilst the cleaning-wo on the sofa,

children were kicking the piano in the parlour, toon the hearthrug, legs in

air, pulling a book in two between the upstairs to find out where our Ursula

hispering at bedroo

irl who had locked

herself in to read And it was hopeless The locked door excited

their sense of mystery, she had to open to dispel the lure

These children hung on to her with round-eyed excited

questions