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Updated: May 23, 2025
The voice died away. She hung on the echo, shaken to the depths of her. Like a disembodied voice it had come out of the great silence. What was it all about? Who was Mr. Heston? Then in a flash it all came clear to her. The mists arose from the past and before her stood envisioned all in the proper relationship: herself, Claybrook, and Joe; Bloomfield, the city, all of mankind.
I had one remarkably fine specimen in a meadow on Claybrook, the farm I owned, adjoining the Aldington land. It covered an area measuring 22 yards by 22 yards = 484 square yards, the tenth part of an acre. The trunk measured 12 feet in circumference, about 7 feet from the ground.
And then they would ask each other whose deal it was and "How were the honours?" and then they would be at it again. Claybrook laughed at the slightest provocation, and seemed to pay a little too obsequious attention to whatever Thompson had to say, and after a while the conversation narrowed down entirely to the two men, with Mrs.
Once Claybrook leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. He had been as silent as a mummy. "Got any chains?" he asked suddenly. "Think I have," replied Joe. "Under the seat." "Better put 'em on, don't you think?" Mary Louise started. "Oh, John! In this rain?" "Guess I had at that," interposed Joe quickly. He stopped the car and lifted the cushion on which he was sitting.
Pray, don't get up," he said to Joe and Claybrook. "Saw you from the door and merely came to pay my respects. Miss Mary Louise, we miss you in the old town." He turned to her gracefully, and Joe could catch the faint aroma of Bourbon, thus immediately accounting to his own satisfaction for the easy poise and manner. Mary Louise was lost.
Twice they grazed the projecting roots of trees on the outside edge of the road by the scantiest of margins and once a board in a culvert snapped ominously as they swept across it, and Claybrook laughed aloud. And Mary Louise, wide-eyed, sat in a frenzy of preparedness, her gaze glued to the winding, ever-dipping road in fascination.
Mary Louise looked about her desperately. Uncle Buzz, smiling sweetly in the aisle, and threatening at any moment to shatter the illusion by falling prostrate, was entirely ignorant of her distress. The tables were reversed. Claybrook was silent; Joe held the centre of the conversational stage. Suddenly Mary Louise arose. "We must be going," she said.
"Hop in," Claybrook called to her a bit shortly. She complied and he reached forward to throw in the gear, when the man walked around in front of the car and held up a restraining hand. She saw then, for the first time, that he was a park policeman. "Let's have your name before you go, friend," he said. "But what for? There's no harm done. I thought I made it all right with you?"
It began to be a regular thing, and she had come to look forward to his coming. The idea of staying alone in that whispery place was not a pleasant idea. Moreover, now that Maida was gone, she had double work to do in the tea room which was running on as briskly as ever and in the evening she felt invariably jaded and in need of some sort of diversion. So she welcomed Claybrook.
Why did she want to talk about such things? He hoped she wouldn't bring in Claybrook and her relations with him. He did not feel in the mood for raking over ashes. "Has Miss Susie been in bed?" He carefully headed on another tack. "Oh, up and down. She's always that way. You cannot imagine how surprised I was to see you with that road gang.
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