United States or Guatemala ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Purcey, rising and falling a little with the oscillation of his A.i. Damyer. A sense as of having just left a house visited by sickness or misfortune made Cecilia murmur: "I'm afraid she's not." "Bad luck!" said Mr. Purcey. His face fell as far as so red and square a face could fall. "I was hoping perhaps I might be allowed to take them for a run. She's wanting exercise." Mr.
Purcey laid his hand on the flank of his palpitating car. "Know these A.i. Damyers, Mrs. Dallison? Best value you can get, simply rippin' little cars. Wish you'd try her." The A.i. Damyer, diffusing an aroma of the finest petrol, leaped and trembled, as though conscious of her master's praise. Cecilia looked at her. "Yes," she said, "she's very sweet." "Now do!" said Mr. Purcey.
The whizz of a motor-car rapidly approaching them became a sort of roar, and out of it a voice shouted: "How are you?" A hand was seen to rise in salute. It was Mr. Purcey driving his A.i. Damyer back to Wimbledon. Before him in the sunlight a little shadow fled; behind him the reek of petrol seemed to darken the road. "There's a symbol for you," muttered Hilary.
There were no Hughs, no little model all that sordid life had vanished; there was nothing but the wind beating her cheeks and the A.i. Damyer leaping under her. Mr. Purcey said: "It just makes all the difference to me; keeps my nerves in order." "Oh," Cecilia murmured, "have you got nerves." Mr. Purcey smiled.
Mr. Purcey said: "That's rippin' of you!" A postman, dog, and baker's cart, all hurrying at top speed, seemed to stand still; Cecilia felt the wind beating her cheeks. She gave a little laugh. "You must just take me home, please." Mr. Purcey touched the chauffeur's elbow. "Round the park," he said. "Let her have it." The A.i. Damyer uttered a tiny shriek.
Cecilia, while engaging them to right and left in her half-sympathetic, faintly mocking way as if doubting whether they really wanted to see her or she them heard a word of fear. "Mr. Purcey." 'Oh Heaven! she thought. Mr. Purcey, whose A.i. Damyer could be heard outside, advanced in his direct and simple way. "I thought I'd give my car a run," he said. "How's your sister?" And seeing Mrs.
Why could not she, and Thyme, and Hilary, and Stephen, and all the people they knew and mixed with, be like him, so sound and healthy, so unravaged by disturbing sympathies, so innocent of "social conscience," so content? As though jealous of these thoughts about her master, the A.i. Damyer stopped of her own accord. "Hallo," said Mr. Purcey, "hallo, I say!
Was it 'that person'? But though it was not Mr. Purcey and his A.i. Damyer, it was somebody so like him as made no difference. Thyme uttered a little laugh. In the Park a cool light danced and glittered on the trees and water, and the same cool, dancing glitter seemed lighting the girl's eyes. The cabman, unseen, took an admiring look at her. 'Nice little bit, this! it said.
Don't you get out; she'll be all right directly." "Oh," said Cecilia, "thanks; but I must go in here, anyhow; I think I'll say good-bye. Thank you so much. I have enjoyed it." From the threshold of a shop she looked back. Mr. Purcey, on foot, was leaning forward from the waist, staring at his A.i. Damyer with profound concentration.
"Let me give you a run Just to please me, I mean. I'm sure you'll like her." A little compunction, a little curiosity, a sudden revolt against all the discomfiture and sordid doubts she had been suffering from, made Cecilia glance softly at Mr. Purcey's figure; almost before she knew it, she was seated in the A.i. Damyer. It trembled, emitted two small sounds, one large scent, and glided forward.
Word Of The Day