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When the machine was polished to his satisfaction, he wheeled it carefully into the stable, where it occupied a stall next to that of the cob. As he passed back again, the animal leisurely turned its head and gazed at Froyle with its large liquid eyes. He slapped the immense flank. Content, the animal returned to its feed, and the weighted chain ran down with a rattle.
The pleasant odour of animals and hay filled the wide spaces of the shed, and through the half-open door came a fresh thin mist rising from the rain-soaked yard in the November evening. Froyle sat down on the oaken table, his legs dangling, and looked again at the envelope before opening it. He was a man about thirty years of age, with a serious and thoughtful, rather heavy countenance.
The village could not make up its mind concerning that match; without doubt it was a social victory for Froyle, but everyone wondered that so sedate and sagacious a man should have seen in Susie a suitable mate. He tore open the envelope with his huge forefinger, and, bending down towards the lantern, began to read the letter. It ran: 'OLDCASTLE STREET,
These types formed the backbone of the Military Wing, which also included Codys, Breguets, Avros, and, later, Sopwiths. The B.E.2c was produced by the Royal Aircraft Factory in the autumn of 1913 and demonstrated its high degree of stability by flying from Aldershot to Froyle and from Froyle to Fleet, distances of 6-3/4 and 8 miles respectively, without the use of ailerons or elevators.
But Eli Machin's firm, instinctive faith that Providence had intervened will never be shaken. Miriam and Tommy now live in the villa-cottage with the old people. William Froyle, ostler at the Queen's Arms at Moorthorne, took the letter, and, with a curt nod which stifled the loquacity of the village postman, went at once from the yard into the coach-house.
The fortnightly meeting of the Slate Club was to take place at eight o'clock that evening. Froyle had employed part of the afternoon in making ready his books for the event, to him always so solemn and ceremonious; and the affairs of the club were now prominent in his mind.
'Now, none of your sauce, Daft Jimmy! Is Willie Froyle in there? The idiot roared with laughter. 'Yes, he is, miss. 'Well, tell him his master wants him. I don't want to cross this mucky, messy yard. 'Yes, miss. The girl closed the door.
Protesting, the idiot went forth, and his irregular clumsy footsteps sounded on the pebble-paved yard. When the noise of them ceased in the soft roadway, Froyle jumped off the table again. Gradually his body, like a stopping pendulum, came to rest under the hook, and hung twitching, with strange disconnected movements.
He is a villain. Please forget all about me. I want to go to London. So many people know me here, and what with people coming in from the village, too. Please forgive me. After reading the letter a second time, Froyle folded it up and put it in his pocket. Beyond a slight unaccustomed pallor of the red cheeks, he showed no sign of emotion.
Someone had told him the ancient story of the fool and his boots, and, with the pride of an idiot in his idiocy, he had determined that it should be related of himself. Froyle was silent. The idiot laughed with a dry cackle. 'Now you go, said Froyle, when the rope was fixed. 'Let me see ye do it, the idiot pleaded with pathetic eyes. 'No; out you get!
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