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Updated: May 17, 2025
And perhaps if Magda had never crossed his path Dan Storran might have gone his way contentedly, toiling from sun-up to sun-down till all his days were finished. Even although she had crossed it, she might still have left him pretty much as she found him unawakened to the deeps of his own nature if she had remained in her present ambiguous mood, half-remorseful, half indifferent.
She could not but acknowledge that in the "wild-goose chase" upon which she was embarking it would be an enormous comfort to have Storran at hand in case of an emergency. As to the proprieties well, Gillian was far too honest and independent a soul to worry about them in the circumstances. Her friend's happiness was at stake.
Since the day she and Gillian had left Ashencombe she had heard nothing of Storran or his wife. No least scrap of news relating to them had come her way. In the ordinary course of events it was hardly likely that it would. The circles of their respective lives did not overlap each other. And Magda had made no effort to discover what had happened at Stockleigh after she had left there.
Then, as she straightened herself, lifting her head once more, she stood still, suddenly arrested. On a stone bench, barely twenty yards away, sat Dan Storran! Against the pallid ghost-white of the bench his motionless figure showed black and sombre like some sable statue.
Storran, you really out to come up to London and give classes 'Manners for Men, you know. Very few of them wait on their wives these days." June upset the salt and busied herself spooning it up again from the cloth. There was no answering smile on her face.
Instinctively Magda and Gillian paused, and Magda held out a slim hand, smiling, as he overtook them. "I'm sure you must be Mr. Storran," she said. He halted abruptly and snatched off his cap, revealing a crop of crinkly dark-brown hair thatching a lean sunburnt face, out of which gleamed a pair of eyes as vividly blue as periwinkles. "Yes, I'm Dan Storran," he said simply.
He's been teaching me to ride," she added inconsequently. "Who is he?" with swift jealousy. "The little fair-haired lady's brother?" "No, her husband. I said Mrs. Storran." Davilof's interest waned suddenly. "Did you?" indifferently. "I didn't notice. She's a pretty little person." Magda agreed absently.
Magda patted the warm surface of the rock beside her invitingly. "You can give me a cigarette to begin with." Storran sat down and pulled out his case. As he held a match for her to light up from, his hand brushed hers and he drew it away sharply. It was trembling absurdly. He sat silent for a moment or two; then he said with an odd abruptness: "I suppose you find it frightfully dull down here?"
"Just live happily from one day to the next, breathing this glorious air, and eating plain, simple food, and feeding those adorable fluffy yellow balls Mrs. Storran calls chickens, and churning butter and " Gillian's ringing, whole-hearted laughter checked this enthusiastic epitome of the simple life. "Never, Magda!" she asserted, shaking her head.
"So you couldn't do it after all, Dan?" The familiar note of half-indifferent mockery sounded in her voice. Storran stared at her. "By God! I don't believe you are a woman!" he exclaimed thickly. She regarded him contemplatively, her hands lightly touching the red marks scored by his fingers on the whiteness of her throat. "Do you know," she replied dispassionately, "I sometimes wonder if I am?
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