Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews

Summary

Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews The Lifted Bandage

The young man, watching the face, bent forward and gripped his other hand on the unresponsive one in his clasp.
"Uncle," he asked, "will it make things worse if I talk to you?"
"No, Dick."
Nothing made a difference, it seemed. Silence or words must simply fall without effect on the rock bottom of despair. The young man halted, as if dismayed, before this overpowering inertia of hopelessness; he drew a quick breath.
"A coroner's jury isn't infallible. I don't believe it of Jack—a lot of people don't believe it," he said.
Source: Gutenberg

Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews The Lifted Bandage

They are living as sure as I am here, and as sure as Jack was here, and Jack's mother. They are living still. Perhaps they're close to you now. You've bound a bandage over your eyes, you've covered the vision of your spirit, so that you can't see; but that doesn't make nothingness of God's world. It's there—here—close, maybe. A more real world than this—this little thing." With a boyish gesture he thrust behind him the universe. "What do we know about the earth, except effects upon our consciousness?
Source: Gutenberg

Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews The Lifted Bandage

You talk about my not allowing myself to believe in Jack. You seem not to realize that such a belief would—might—stand between me and madness. I've been trying to adjust myself to a possible scheme of living—getting through the years till I go into nothingness. I can't. All I can grasp is the feeling that a man might have if dropped from a balloon and forced to stay gasping in the air, with no place in it, nothing to hold to, no breath to draw, no earth to rest on, no end to hope for. There is nothing beyond.
Source: Gutenberg

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