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Forsyde's comin'," and Monsieur Profond "poinded" with a yellow-gloved finger; "small car, with a small lunch"; he moved on, groomed, sleepy, and remote, George Forsyte following, neat, huge, and with his jesting air. Val remained gazing at the Mayfly filly.
Half-consciously, he thought: 'There's something in this damned climate which makes one go round in a ring. All the same, I must have a strain of Mayfly blood. In this mood he reached the Mecca of his hopes. It was one of those quiet meetings favourable to such as wish to look into horses, rather than into the mouths of bookmakers; and Val clung to the paddock.
Val grunted, and recounted the story of the Mayfly filly. "That's so like him," murmured Winifred. "He does all sorts of things." "Well," said Val shrewdly, "our family haven't been too lucky with that kind of cattle; they're too light-hearted for us." It was true, and Winifred's blue study lasted a full minute before she answered: "Oh! well! He's a foreigner, Val; one must make allowances."
The Mayfly filly, hardly accustomed to her new quarters, scraped at her straw a little; and the few night-flitting things bats, moths, owls were vigorous in the warm darkness; but the peace of night lay in the brain of all day-time Nature, colourless and still.
Forsyde's comin'," and Monsieur Profond "poinded" with a yellow-gloved finger; "small car, with a small lunch"; he moved on, groomed, sleepy, and remote, George Forsyte following, neat, huge, and with his jesting air. Val remained gazing at the Mayfly filly.
George Forsyte, of course, was an old chap, but this Profond might be about his own age; Val felt extremely young, as if the Mayfly filly were a toy at which those two had laughed. The animal had lost reality. "That 'small' mare" he seemed to hear the voice of Monsieur Profond "what do you see in her? we must all die!" And George Forsyte, crony of his father, racing still!
When I used to fish in your English waters, they sent me to a river where the Mayfly was out ah, that beautiful, fluttering creature which may live one minute or may live five. He struggles up from the bottom of the river, you remember, and then, just as he has extended his splendid wings, up comes a great trout and swallows him the poor thing of ten or twenty or a hundred seconds.
Tony's tormented soul sought for something soothing. The garden was pleasant, but it wasn't enough. Ah! he'd got it! He'd go to the river; all by himself he'd go, and not tell anybody. He'd look over the bridge into that cool deep pool and perhaps that big fat trout would be swimming about. What was it he had heard Captain Middleton say last time he was down at Amber Guiting? "The Mayfly was up."
Half consciously, he thought: 'There's something in this damned climate which makes one go round in a ring. All the same, I must have a strain of Mayfly blood. In this mood he reached the Mecca of his hopes. It was one of those quiet meetings favorable to such as wish to look into horses, rather than into the mouths of bookmakers; and Val clung to the paddock.
Unlike Wordsworth, Tennyson does not regard nature as a manifestation of the divine spirit of love. He sees her more from the new scientific point of view, as "red in tooth and claw with rapine." The hero of Maud says: "For nature is one with rapine, a harm no preacher can heal; The Mayfly is torn by the swallow, the sparrow spear'd by the shrike.
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