The chauffeur did most of the
looking on and practically all the talking.
From the mouths of babes and sucklings and from the lips of hired
servants one gets wisdom in the one case and information in the other.
All that the chauffeur had stated was quite true. Some five days
before--and we have now three years behind us since that night when
Sally Bishop tottered into Traill's arms--Mrs. Durlacher had
received a letter from her brother, of whom she had seen nothing for
almost six months, saying that he thought of going down to Apsley
for the day. "But I make sure first," his letter concluded, "that
the field is cleared. Down there, as you know, I prefer to be the
only starter."
She had written in reply that she had only been down to Apsley once
that year herself and, furthermore, on the day he mentioned, the
place would be as deserted of human beings as London is in the heart
of July--meaning thereby that any place is a wilderness which is
empty of one's self and one's associates. That she had written by
return of post; then, two days later, her mind had caught an
impression--a wandering insect that the flimsy web of a spider
clutches by chance.
Pages:
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289