#oldf

Old man Yuri

New letter from the old Bunny! And now he has to deal with Raffles full of energy for being outside and in a bath-chair:

(...) See the festive picture over the sideboard? Looks to me like a Jacques Saillard. But that silver-table would be good enough for me.” “Get on,” said I. “You’re in a bath-chair.” “But the whole square’s at dinner! We should have the ball at our feet. It wouldn’t take two twos!” “With those blinds up, and the cook in the kitchen underneath?”

Raffles stood confronted by a dark and handsome woman whose profile, as I saw it first in the electric light, is cut like a cameo in my memory. It had the undeviating line of brow and nose, the short upper lip, the perfect chin, that are united in marble oftener than in the flesh; and like marble she stood, or rather like some beautiful pale bronze; for that was her coloring, and she lost none of it that I could see, neither trembled; but her bosom rose and fell, and that was all.

I really love how Bunny describes this woman. It's not just about her appearence, it's about the moment see through the soul of an artist that Bunny shows even in a tense moment.

Raffles showing his identity to that woman! At least Bunny is asking the right questions:

He had been recognized at last, he had come to life. Only one person knew as yet, but that person was a woman, and a woman who had once been fond of him, if the human face could speak. Would she keep his secret? Would he tell her where he lived? 

At least he's safe back with Bunny, but it still troubles me the reason why he showed his face

“I hope nobody else saw it,” said Raffles devoutly. “I don’t say that Romeo and Juliet were brother and sister to us. But you might have said so, Bunny!” He was staring at the carpet with as wry a face as lover ever wore. “An old flame?” said I, gently. “A married woman,” he groaned. “So I gathered.” “But she always was one, Bunny,” said he, ruefully. “That’s the trouble. It makes all the difference in the world!”

Bunny, this is your chance to write a book about Raffles' love life. He was the lover of famous painter, a clever woman who signed with a male name. This relationship must have been turbulent (and don't blame the Spanish blood for this).

I had looked up at our windows and the blinds were down! I rushed within. The doctor’s door stood open. I neither knocked nor rang, but found him in his consulting-room with red eyes and a blotchy face. Otherwise he was in solemn black from head to heel. “Who is dead?” I burst out. “Who is dead?”

Oh no, oh no... AGAIN?!?!?!

“Mr. Maturin,” he said, and sighed like a beaten man.

Poor Bunny! Raffles Mr. Maturin died again! Will his heart resist this pain again? I don't think so. Considering that Raffles was living under a new identity it's normal to see a few persons at the funeral.

The face was carefully veiled, but I was too close not to recognize the masterful beauty whom the world knew as Jacques Saillard. I had no sympathy with her; on the contrary, my blood boiled with the vague conviction that in some way she was responsible for this death. Yet she was the only woman present—there were not a half a dozen of us altogether—and her flowers were the only flowers.

There are too many tormentous emotions in this letter. Grief, rage, solitude, despair, emptiness in Bunny's heart and soul. How can he live this moment again? and this now for real!

“He’s not even at the bottom of that grave! He’s no more dead than you or I, and a sham burial is his latest piece of villainy!”

[*swears in Chilean*] CTM, Raffles ql, hiciste la misma weá otra vez!

New letter from Bunny! I wanted to write this last night but I forgot that today I had an appointment early in the morning.

(Illustration by Dan Smith. Source: Raffles Redux)

The woman meant well, he said, after all, and could be trusted to keep his secret loyally. It was plain to me, however, that Raffles did not trust her, and that his pretence upon the point was a deliberate pose to conceal the extent to which she had him in her power.

Raffles has something in mind, and he is the only one who knows Jacques well. AJ can be very manipulative put at least he's doing something to protect Bunny from this [waves hands dismissively] mess.

She would take me ‘to the dear, warm underworld, where the sun really shines,’ and she would ‘nurse me back to life and love!’ The artistic temperament is a fearsome thing, Bunny, in a woman with the devil’s own will!”

After all Jacques still cares about Raffles, and she's ready to nurse him even when she is a married woman. Donde hubo fuego, cenizas quedan (Where there was fire, ashes remain) and again she's risking herself to be with AJ. Now I understand why Bunny said that he could write a book about Raffles' love life.

“Well,” he said, “if you don’t see me in ten days you never will.” “Only ten days?” I echoed. “That’s nothing at all.” “A lot may happen in ten days,” replied Raffles, in the same depressing tone, so very depressing in him; and with that he held out his hand a second time, and dropped mine suddenly after as sudden a pressure for farewell.

I don't know what happens in his mind but this part is hinted with worry and sadness, but at least Bunny has hope in their future together.

But I myself was under no such perpetual disadvantage, and, while what was good enough for Raffles was quite good enough for me so long as we were together, I saw no harm in profiting by the present opportunity of “doing myself well.”

It was autumn, and it struck me that the tints would be fine. And I had learnt from Raffles to appreciate such things, even amid the excitement of an audacious enterprise.

Enjoy the day, old chap!

If I dwell upon my appreciation of this occasion it is because, like most pleasures, it was exceedingly short-lived.