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Updated: June 23, 2025
Ye-es an autumn, rose-petal, whirling, dead-leaf sound." "Good! Pipped. Shut up, Ossy don't snore!" "Ah, poor old dog! Let him. Shuffle for me, please. Oh! there goes another card!" Her knee was touching his !... The book had dropped Summerhay started. Dash it! Hopeless! And, turning round in that huge armchair, he snoozed down into its depths. In a few minutes, he was asleep.
No flower-boxes this year broke the plain front of Winton's house, and nothing whatever but its number and the quickened beating of his heart marked it out for Summerhay from any other dwelling. The moment he turned into Jermyn Street, that beating of the heart subsided, and he felt suddenly morose. He entered his club at the top of St. James' Street and passed at once into the least used room.
She wanted to be able to "go out riding" with Grandy and Mum and Baryn. And the first days were spent by them all more or less in fulfilling her new desires. Then term began, and Gyp sat down again to the long sharing of Summerhay with his other life. One afternoon at the beginning of November, the old Scotch terrier, Ossian, lay on the path in the pale sunshine.
It was past two when he reached Bury Street and found a telegram. "Something dreadful happened to Mr. Summerhay. Come quick. Never had he so cursed the loss of his hand as during the time that followed, when Markey had to dress, help his master, pack bags, and fetch a taxi equipped for so long a journey. At half-past three they started.
At that lash of the whip, Summerhay turned and said: "It pleases you to think the worst, then?" Gyp stopped the movement of her fingers and looked round at him. "I've always told you you were perfectly free. Do you think I haven't felt it going on for months? There comes a moment when pride revolts that's all. Don't lie to me, PLEASE!" "I am not in the habit of lying." But still he did not go.
The bust fell over, and Summerhay looked stupidly at his bruised hand. A silly thing to do! But it had quenched his anger. He only saw Gyp's face now so pitifully unhappy. Poor darling! What could he do? If only she would believe! And again he had the sickening conviction that whatever he did would be of no avail. He could never get back, was only at the beginning, of a trouble that had no end.
Summerhay stood by the river-wall and looked up at the stars through the plane-tree branches. Every now and then he drew a long breath of the warm, unstirring air, and smiled, without knowing that he smiled. And he thought of little, of nothing; but a sweetish sensation beset his heart, a kind of quivering lightness his limbs. He sat down on a bench and shut his eyes. He saw a face only a face.
He slept without a dream. It was two hours later when the same friend, seeking distraction, came on him, and stood grinning down at that curly head and face which just then had the sleepy abandonment of a small boy's. Maliciously he gave the chair a little kick. Summerhay stirred, and thought: 'What! Where am I? In front of the grinning face, above him, floated another, filmy, charming.
There at the door was Markey, holding in his hand some cards. Winton scanned them. "Lady Summerhay; Mr. Bryan Summerhay. I said, 'Not at home, sir." Winton nodded. "Well?" "Nothing at present. You have had no lunch, sir." "What time is it?" "Four o'clock." "Bring in my fur coat and the port, and make the fire up. I want any news there is." Markey nodded.
While he stood there waiting, he thought: 'Shall I ask her to come? But he could not stand another bout of misery must have rest! And mounting, he rode up towards the downs. Hotspur, the sixteen-hand brown horse, with not a speck of white, that Gyp had ridden hunting the day she first saw Summerhay, was nine years old now.
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