United States or Saint Barthélemy ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
You don't know, after all, what on earth sheer silence means even at Widderstone. But one can just realize a water-nymph. They chatter; but, thank Heaven, it's not articulate. He handed Lawford a cup with a certain niceness and self-consciousness, lifting his eyebrows slightly as he turned.
He tilted the portrait into the candlelight, and compared it with this reflection in the glass of what had come out of Widderstone, feature with feature, with perfect composure and extreme care, Then he laid down the massive frame on the table, and gazed quietly at the tiny packet. It was to be a day of queer experiences.
But, like the sour-sweet fragrance of the brier, its wandering desolate burst of music had power to wake memory, and carried him instantly back to that first aimless descent into the evening gloom of Widderstone from which it was in vain to hope ever to climb again.
As for what you say your case is, the bizarre that kind very seldom gets into print at all. In all our make-believe, all our pretence, how, honestly, could it? But there, this is immaterial. The real question is, may I, can I help? What I gather is this: You just trundled down into Widderstone all among the dead men, and but one moment, I'll light up. A light flickered up in the dark.
In the old days I mean before Widderstone, what I saw was only what I'd seen already. Nothing came uncalled for, unexplained. This makes the old life seem so blank; I did not know what extraordinarily real things I was doing without. And whether for that reason or another, I can't quite make out what in fact I did want then, and was always fretting and striving for.
'Do you happen to know Mr Herbert Herbert's? he said. The baker's wife glanced up at him with clear, reflective eyes. 'Mr Herbert's? that must be some little way off, sir. I don't know any such name, and I know most, just round about like. 'Well, yes, it is, said Lawford, rather foolishly; 'I hardly know why I asked. It's past the churchyard at Widderstone. 'Oh yes, sir, she encouraged him.
It was your own prescription, however; and it merely occurred to me to inquire whether the actual experience has not brought you round to my own opinion. 'Yes, I think it has, Lawford answered calmly. 'But I don't quite see what suicide has got to do with it; unless You know Widderstone, then, Sheila? 'I drove there last Saturday afternoon.
"Once, like Lawford in the darkness at Widderstone, he glanced up sharply across the lamplight at his phantasmagorical shadowy companion, heard the steady surge of multitudinous rain-drops, like the roar of Time's winged chariot hurrying near, then he too, with spectacles awry, bobbed on in his chair, a weary old sentinel on the outskirts of his friend's denuded battlefield."
In fact, I went into the Widderstone in the evening to look for you, knowing your nocturnal habits.... She glanced again at him with a kind of shy anxiety. 'Why why is your brother so why does he let me bore him so horribly? 'Does he? He's tremendously interested; but then, he's pretty easily interested when he's interested at all.
The secret of his content in that long leisurely ramble had been that repeatedly by a scarcely realised effort it had not lain in the direction of Widderstone.
Word Of The Day