United States or Ethiopia ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Sophie moved beneath the light of a hole in the roof. "Nah none dies here excep' falling off ricks and such. In London they died." He plucked a lock of wool from his blue smock. "They was no staple neither the Elphicks nor the Moones. Shart and brittle all of 'em. Dead they be seventeen year, for I've been here caretakin' twenty-five." "Who does all the wool belong to downstairs?" George asked.
Against her will she fell to wondering how many Moones, Elphicks, and Torrells had been swung round the turn of the broad Mall stairs. Then she remembered the old man's talk of being "up-ended like a milk-can," and buried her face on Scottie's neck. "He's dead," she said, without preface. "Old Iggulden? I was coming for a talk with him." The vicar passed in uncovered. "Ah!" she heard him say.
But Sophie asked so many questions, and George was so humanly interested, that, as confidence in the strangers grew, they launched, with observed and acquired detail, into the lives and deaths and doings of the Elphicks and the Moones and their collaterals, the Haylings and the Torrells.
"But why," said Sophie, as they went back through the crater of stricken fields, "why is one expected to know everything in England? Why do they never tell?" "You mean about the Elphicks and the Moones?" he answered. "Yes and the lawyers and the estate. Who are they? I wonder whether those painted floors in the green room were real oak.
Shonts's letter for guarantee." "None she sent never cheated us yet. It slipped out before I thought. She's a most humane young lady. They'll be going away in a little. An' you've talked a lot too, Alfred." "Yes, but the Elphicks are all dead. No one can bring my loose talking home to me. But why do they stay on and stay on so?"
Word Of The Day