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Updated: May 19, 2025
And so, about my mind and yours, Thought dances, shoots, and wastes its powers, Coming and going, Aimlessly flowing, Until the Pole Star of the Will Captains them wisely, strong, and still, Some dream for others to fulfil With consecration. Selected Poems, Montmorency Minke. There was a certain air of unreality somewhere in the life at Bourcelles that ministered to fantasy.
'Why not? said Mother, knitting on the sofa that was her bed at night. She had put her needles down and was staring at her husband; he stared at Rogers; all three stared at each other. Something each wished to conceal moved towards utterance and revelation. Yet no one of them wished to be the first to mention it. A great change had come of late upon Bourcelles.
And the more he thought about it, the more insistent grew the claims of little Bourcelles, and the more that portentous Scheme for Disabled Thingumabobs faded into dimness. The old Vicar's words kept singing in his head: 'The world is full of Neighbours. Bring them all back to Fairyland. He thought things out in his own way and at his leisure.
In a London Square he could not ring the bell and ask for a glass of milk.... In Bourcelles he would walk into any house, since there were no bells, and sit down to an entire meal! He laughed as the absurd comparison darted across his mind, for he recognised the foolish exaggeration in it; but behind the laughter flamed the astonishing truth.
'But surely we have met before I think I know you He just said it, swallowing his breath with a gulp upon the unfinished sentence. But he said it somewhere else, and not here in the twilight street of little Bourcelles. For his sight swam somehow far away, and he was giddy with the height.
Bourcelles, in this magic tale, was the starting- point whence the Starlight Expresses flashed into all the world, even unto unvisited, forgotten corners that had known no service hitherto. It was so adaptable and searching, and knew such tiny, secret ways of entrance. The thought was so penetrating, true, and simple.
After some delay they discovered a taxi-cab, piled the luggage on to it, and were whirled away towards a little cluster of lights that twinkled beneath the shadows of La Tourne and Boudry. Bourcelles lay five miles out. 'Remember, you're not my secretary here, said Rogers presently, as the forests sped by them. 'You're just a travelling companion.
Instead of the human outline in the dusky street of Bourcelles, he stared at the host of stars, at the shimmering design of gold, at the Pleiades, whose fingers of spun lustre swung the Net loose across the world.... 'Flung from huge Orion's hand... he caught in a golden whisper, 'Sweetly linking All our thinking.... His cousin and Minks, he was aware vaguely, had left him.
Normally, at this time, he would be sitting in a taxi, hurrying noisily towards his Club, thoughts full of figures, politics, philanthropy cut to line and measure a big Scheme standing in squares across the avenue of the future. Now, moss and flowers and little children took up all the available space. ... How curiously out of the world Bourcelles was, to be sure.
And the limestone precipices of La Tourne stood dazzlingly white, catching the morning sunlight full in their face. The air had the freshness of the sea. Men were singing at their work among the vineyards. The tinkle of cow-bells floated to him from the upper pastures upon Mont Racine. Little sails like sea-gulls dipped across the lake. Goodness, how happy the world was at Bourcelles!
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