United States or Gambia ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Attempted suicide not at all an English crime! Suicide implied surrender, a putting-up of hands to Fate to say nothing of the religious aspect of the matter. And suicide in khaki seemed to Mr. Bosengate particularly abhorrent; like turning tail in face of the enemy; almost meriting the fate of a deserter. He looked at the prisoner, trying not to give way to this prejudice.
The question seemed to him untimely. "Only two." "What's it like in prison, Daddy?" Mr. Bosengate, who had no more knowledge than his little daughter, replied in an absent voice: "Not very nice." They were passing under a young oak tree, where the path wound round to the rosery and summer-house. Something shot down and clawed Mr. Bosengate's neck.
There were hollows in his cheeks, his dark hair looked damp; around his neck he wore a bandage. The commercial traveller on Mr. Bosengate's left turned, and whispered: "Felo de se! My hat! what a guy!" Mr. Bosengate pretended not to hear he could not bear that fellow! and slowly wrote on a bit of paper: "Owen Lewis." Welsh! Well, he looked it not at all an English face.
Close to the red-brick lodge his two children, Kate and Harry, ran out from under the acacia trees, and waved to him, scrambling bare-legged on to the low, red, ivy-covered wall which guarded his domain of eleven acres. Mr. Bosengate waved back, thinking: 'Jolly couple by Jove, they are! Above their heads, through the trees, he could see right away to some Downs, faint in the July heat haze.
'No, by George! thought Mr. Bosengate. The evidence of the first witness, a room-mate who had caught the prisoner's hand, and of the sergeant, who had at once been summoned, was conclusive and he began to cherish a hope that they would get through without withdrawing, and he would be home before five. But then a hitch occurred.
Again the random thought passed through him: 'But she never tells me anything! And suddenly that lugubrious khaki-clad figure started up among the rose bushes. "We've got a lot to be thankful for!" he said abruptly. "I must go to work!" His wife, raising one eyebrow, smiled. "And I to weep!" Mr. Bosengate laughed she had a pretty wit!
Dressed only in a loose blue wrapper, she was brushing her dark hair before the glass. Mr. Bosengate went up to her and stood there silent, looking down. The words he had thought of were like a swarm of bees buzzing in his head, yet not one would fly from between his lips. His wife went on brushing her hair under the light which shone on her polished elbows.
Bosengate arrested the swing and stood up. Absurd! all his well-being and mood of warm anticipation had deserted him! 'A d -d world! he thought. 'Such a lot of misery! Why should I have to sit in judgment on that poor beggar, and condemn him? He moved up on to the terrace and walked briskly, to rid himself of this disturbance before going in.
Red rambler roses formed a sort of crown to her dark head; her ivory-coloured face had in it just a suggestion of the Japanese. Mr. Bosengate spoke through the whirr of the engine: "I don't expect to be late, dear. This business is ridiculous. There oughtn't to be any crime in these days." His wife her name was Kathleen smiled. She looked very pretty and cool, Mr. Bosengate thought.
You may thank the jury that you are not sent to prison, and your good fortune that you were not at the front when you tried to commit this cowardly act. You are lucky to be alive." A policeman pulled the little soldier by the arm; his drab figure with eyes fixed and lustreless, passed down and away. From his very soul Mr. Bosengate wanted to lean out and say: "Cheer up, cheer up! I understand."
Word Of The Day