The Last Laugh — Reading Companion

From Dialogue to Interior Monologue

After the departure of Lorenzo, the narrative shifts dramatically. The external, dialogue-driven scene gives way to the deaf girl's extended interior monologue. The prose becomes looser, more repetitive, and introspective. She muses on the laughing man she glimpsed among holly bushes: 'Such laughter! He laughs longest who laughs last. He certainly will have the last laugh.' The repetition of 'absurd' and 'ridiculous' marks her self-questioning. The pace slows, dwelling on her thoughts about Marchbanks and her past 'determination to save him from himself.' This shift in voice—from clipped, ironic dialogue to flowing, self-reflective prose—creates a distinct change in narrative rhythm.

The Laugh as a Disruptive Force

The laughing man is not described in full; instead, his presence is conveyed through sound and effect. The girl hears 'a deep, laughing voice' when no one is visible. The laugh is linked to a 'curious smell of almond blossom' and a sense that the sky has 'crackled and rolled back, like an old skin.' Lawrence uses these sensory details to suggest a supernatural or transformative force. The girl's reaction is not fear but wonder: 'How wonderful of that man to come and laugh like that and make the sky crack.' The laugh disrupts her previous certainties about love and relationships, leading her to question 'the ridiculousness of being in love.' The narrative pace here is meditative, with short, breathless sentences mimicking her excitement.

Shifts in Temporal and Psychological Pace

The story's pacing is uneven, mirroring the protagonist's psychological state. Early scenes are tightly timed—midnight, snowy streets, a brief encounter. Later, time becomes elastic as she muses alone. The phrase 'she went off into a muse about Marchbanks' signals a drift into memory and speculation. The narrative jumps between present observation and past reflection, as when she recalls 'she and he were such friends. They had been friends like that for almost two years.' This temporal fluidity contrasts with the opening's linear, clock-driven action. The change in pace underscores her growing detachment from conventional time and social norms, culminating in her wish that the laughing man might 'just touch her.'

Readers should attend to how Lawrence uses the deaf girl's disability not as a limitation but as a filter that heightens other senses—smell, sight, and especially the quality of laughter. The narrative's shifts in pace and voice are not arbitrary; they trace a movement from social comedy to personal epiphany. The laughing figure remains ambiguous, never fully explained, which invites interpretation without resolution. This story rewards attention to its rhythmic changes and the way Lawrence lets a single, uncanny laugh unravel a character's worldview.

I’ve often thought about that deaf woman on Hampstead Heath, how Lawrence’s laughter unsettles her into seeing her own guarded heart. It reminds me of another book, Shaming the Speed Limit — Context and Discussion, which holds a similar quiet thread—how our hurried selves sometimes need a stranger’s oddity to pause, to listen past the noise. A kinship found between pages.