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Updated: June 5, 2025
Yes, I didn't seem to get on to it at all at first." "Well, you're fixed for Queen's Club just heard got your Blue all right. You and Whymper ought to do fine things between you, although stickin' two individualists together on the same wing like that ain't exactly my idea, and they don't as a rule settle the team as early as this" Lawrence put a large hand on Olva's knee.
But, strangely, Olva's words roused in Bunning a kind of protest, so that he pulled his eyes back into their sockets, steadied his hands, held his boots firmly to the floor, and, quite softly, with a little note of urgency in it as though he were pleading before a great court, said "Yes, I know. But he drove me to it; Craven did. I thought it was the only way to save you.
Screams, laughter, shouting, wild dancing let the Dons come now and see what they can make of it! "Bulldogs!" sounded a voice in Olva's ear, and turning round he beheld a breathless, dishevelled Bunning. "I've been pulling wood off the palings. Ha! hoch! he! Such a rag!" and then more apprehensively, "Bulldogs! There they are, with Metcher!"
About him was the terror of loneliness. From his earliest years this idea of loneliness had pleasantly seized upon Olva's mind. His father had always impressed upon him that the Dunes had ever been lonely lonely in a world that was contemptible. He had always until now accepted this idea and found it confirmed on every side.
Craven had tried, during his first term, to make a friend of Olva, but his happy, eager attitude to the whole world had seemed crude and even priggish to Olva's reserve, and all Craven's overtures had been refused, quietly, kindly, but firmly.
Olva's aloof surveying of the world about him, as a man on a hill surveys the town in the valley, made of "Cards'" last year and a half a gaudy and noisy thing.
He was not now altogether sure whether Bunning were really there or no. His spectacles were there, his boots were there, but was Bunning there? If he were not there. . . . But he was there. Olva's brain slowly cleared and, for the first time for many weeks, he was entirely himself. It was the first moment of peace that he had known since that hour in St. Martin's Chapel.
Olva's voice was stern his face white and hard. "No I won't." "You must. I won't keep you long. I have something to tell you." Craven suddenly ceased to struggle. He gazed straight into Olva's eyes, and the look that he gave him was the strangest thing something of terror, something of anger, a great wonder, and even strangest of all! a struggling affection. "I'll come," he said.
"Can't you understand that your behaviour makes me wish that I hadn't told you, whereas if you care as you say you do you ought to want to show me how you can carry it, to prove to me that I was right to tell you " "Yes, I know. But Craven " "Craven knows nothing." "But he does." Bunning's voice became shrill and his fat hand shook on Olva's arm. "There's something I haven't told you.
I'm tired: I haven't been sleeping very well." "Why's that? Overwork?" "No, it's nothing. I don't know why it is." "You ought to see somebody. I know what not sleeping means." "Why? . . . Are you sleeping badly?" Craven's eyes met Olva's. "No, I'm splendid, thanks. But I had a bout of insomnia years ago. I shan't forget it." "You look all right." Cravan's eyes were busily searching Olva's face.
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