Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 7, 2025
"I could have stood anything if I'd been able to see him growing up, had him to care about.... I'm so lonely, Bobby and if I don't make Clare come back to me, now that the book's failed, I I I'll go back to Scaw House and just drink myself to the devil there with my old father; he'll be glad enough."
Were they, in sober fact to go on together during the remainder of his days? He lingered for a little looking down upon the grave. He was glad to think that he had made her last hours happy. Indeed she had not lived in vain. Heavy black clouds were banking upon the horizon as he went down the hill and struck the Sea Road in the direction of Scaw House.
The gaily-dressed genial man spoke to him of all the glitter and adventure of the outside world. Back, crowding upon him, came all those adventurous thoughts and desires that he had known before in Mr. Zanti's company but tinged now by that grey threatening background of Scaw House and its melancholy inhabitants! What would he not give to escape? Perhaps Mr.
But the world or at any rate the Scaw House portion of it could not move in this same round eternally. Something would happen, and the vague, half-confessed intention that had been in his mind for some time now was a little more defined.
With this realisation came a knowledge of other things of things half heard at the office, of half looks in the street, of a deliberate avoidance of his father's name the Westcotts of Scaw House! There were clouds about the name. But his father, in contact with Uncle Jeremy and Aunt Agatha, was strangely impressive.
With Stephen life was a case of having money or not having it if one had not money one went without everything possible and waited until the money came again ... the tide was sure to turn. But, with Peter, this was all a fight against his father who sat, apparently, in the dark rooms at Scaw House, willing disaster. Now, as Stephen and all the sensible world knew, this was nonsense
On a distant wall there was a photograph "Dunotter Rocks, from the East." Then he remembered. He flung the bed-clothes off him and hurried to dress. He must go up to Scaw House at once, at once, at once. Not another moment must be wasted. His hands trembled as he put on his clothes and when he came downstairs he was dishevelled and untidy.
That evening with Stephen shone upon him now with all the vigour of colour of a real fact in a multitude of vague shadows. The reality of that night was now of the utmost value. Meanwhile there were changes at Scaw House. Mrs. Trussit had vanished a few days after the funeral, no one said anything about her departure and Peter did not see her go.
As he sat there he thought confusedly of a great number of things of his own childhood of his mother of a boy at Dawson's who had asked him once as they gazed up at a great mass of apple blossoms in bloom, "Do you think there is anything in all that stuff about God anyway, Westcott?" of a night when he had gone with some loose woman of the town and of the wet miry street that they had left behind them as she had closed the door of that night at the party when he had seen Cardillac again of the things that Maradick had said to him that night when young Stephen was born and so from that to his own life, his own birth, his father, Scaw House, the struggle that it had all been.
Westcott spent the day doing business in Truro, and at once the atmosphere over Scaw House seemed to lighten. The snow had melted away, and there was a ridiculous feeling of spring in the air; ridiculous because it was still December, but Cornwall is often surprisingly warm in the heart of winter, and the sun was shining as ardently as though it were the middle of June.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking