|
From: | Emily Ballard |
Subject: | vindication |
Date: | Sat, 16 Sep 2006 05:50:27 -0400 |
Luncheon is served, maam, said the butler. More
rice was thrown, and the carmoved off.
Slate blue wereMiss Rashleighs; Miss Antonias red,
like port. He paused; struck a match, and twitchedagain. Then he had gone behind
acounter; had sold cheap watches; then he had taken a wallet
toAmsterdam.
And beforethey went to bed that night it was all
settled.
The stream at the bottom, where our wood meets the
black wood, sheexplained. Dont talk such rubbish, Rosalind, he said. He was not a
tame rabbit,whatever he was.
With her hands to her hair, her chestnut coloured
hair, she stoodin the yard, in the wind. The shield of the Rashleighs crashed from
the wall. His one and only extravagance was hislittle yacht on the Norfolk Broads.
There they were, ten pearls on the blotting-paper on the table.
Well, when he was eatingtoast he looked like a
rabbit. Miss Antonia drew the carving knife across the pheasants breast
firmly.
Then there entered, slouching, the Squire himself
inshabby gaiters. Then again up shot the rockets, thereddish purple pheasants.
Rosalind exclaimed, as if she had been expecting this. So, said Oliver Bacon, rising
and stretching his legs. Down it poured, down, down, down, in straight rods whipping
the windows.
Well, when he was eatingtoast he looked like a
rabbit.
Luncheon is served, maam, said the
butler.
Then he heard soft slow footstepsapproaching; a
rustle in the corridor. Down it poured, down, down, down, in straight rods whipping
the windows.
You who began lifein a filthy little alley, you who
Then, silently, the enormously high door opened. And beforethey went to bed that
night it was all settled. And their hands gripped their handslike the claws of dead
birds gripping nothing.
|
[Prev in Thread] | Current Thread | [Next in Thread] |