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Full text of "TheCompleteMemoirsOfGeorgeSherston"

I felt as if I had changed since the Easter hniidnvs.
The drawing-room door creaked as 1 went softly in
and crept across the beeswaxed parquet iloor. Last
night's half-consumed candles and the c;;i,"s half-
empty bowl of milk under the gale-le^ed table
seemed to belong neither here nor there, and my o\vn
silent face looked quccrly at me out of the mirror.
And there was the familiar photograph of "'Love and
Death", by Watts, with its secret meaning which I
could never quite formulate in a thought, though it
often touched me with a vague emotion of pathos.
When I unlocked the door into the garden tho early
morning air met me with its cold purity; on the stone
step were the bowls of roses and delphiniums and
sweet peas which Aunt Evelyn had carried out there
before she went to bed; the scarlet disc of the suu had
climbed an inch above the hills. Thrushes and black-
birds hopped and pecked busily on the dew-soaked
lawn, and a pigeon was cooing monotonously from the
belt of woodland which sloped from the garden
toward the Weald. Down there in the belt of river-
mist a goods train whistled as it pulled steadily away
from the station with a distinctly heard dunking of
buffers. How little I knew of the enormous world'
beyond that valley and those low green hills.

From over the fields and orchards Butlcy Church
struck five in mellow tones. Then the clock indoors
whizzed and confirmed it with a less resonant tongue.
The Flower Show Match was hours away yet— more
than six hours in fact. Suppose I'd bcucr go back
to bed again, I thought, or I'll be feeling tired out
before the match begins. Soon the maids would be

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