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From: | Elisabeth Lehman |
Subject: | [Bug-SnakeCharmer] high-handed written |
Date: | Sat, 16 Sep 2006 18:40:41 +0200 |
And keep an eye on the yard and the garage. Was she
intrigued by the factthat he was a gentleman handling luggage and cleaning
boots?
She observed him steadily above the rustling
paper.
Sorrell called them fools, and his scorn of them
was part of hisown pain.
He had a queer feeling that her passings and
repassings were nothaphazard.
Trade was good; Florence Palfreynever gave you the
impression that she had to deny herselfanything. At this hour he did his
preciouscalculations. She gave him a stare, and in it was a brutal curiosity. That
wasone of the human tags brought back from France.
The thing that astonished him was the way that the
boy understood.
Im not going to bother about the crease in my
trousers my son. I am always going to tell you things, Kit; no more make-believe.
But you will still be Captain Sorrell, M.
I am always going to tell you things, Kit; no more
make-believe. But you will still be Captain Sorrell, M.
Kit had noticed on their shortcountry rambles that
his father walked as though his feet hurt him.
She observed him steadily above the rustling paper.
He began to know the names and the faces and the callings of themen who drifted into
it.
Assuredly he was landing with a bump at the very
bottom ofthe social precipice.
Sorrellnoticed that the curtains were of green
taffeta. His senses were dulled, and the whole atmosphere ofthis quiet old town had
changed.
They were the eyes of a man who wasthirsty, and to
whom the boy brought pure, clean water. Veritys dead, said the father; he died this
morning. Tobacco ash and used matches littered the trays. She gave him a stare, and
in it was a brutal curiosity.
I am always going to tell you things, Kit; no more
make-believe. Barter a pound a week for Christophers keep. Sorrell took one of the
first steps towards the greater courage. Miss Hargreaves was fingering the leaves of
a ledger, and waitingupon his silence.
She was kind to Sorrell she offered to do his
mending for him.
He saw himself in it, his anxious, sallowface, the
sweep of the hand carrying the wash-leather.
Her eyes lifted suddenly, and hesaw the big black
pupils and the vivid blue of each iris.
There were timeswhen he himself was on the edge of
tears, tears of rage or ofexhaustion.
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