վҳʱ ƾ̨ ۵ Ļ Ƶ֪ʶȨ

ȷ:ҳע 8ǧԺ

2020-08-09 04:58:52  Դձ


ȷַ:a g 9 559 v i p<`Do you think there is a second key to that little hut not far from John's Well, where the pheasants are reared?' she said.`There, there, don't you cry! Tell me what they've done to you!'...an intense tenderness of tone. At the same time she felt in the pocket of her knitted jacket, and luckily found a sixpence.

But he still wanted the old intimate evenings of talk with Connie: talk or reading aloud. But now she could arrange that Mrs Bolton should come at ten to disturb them. At ten o'clock Connie could go upstairs and be alone. Clifford was in good hands with Mrs Bolton.


Down posted Hilda from Scotland, where she had taken up her abode. She came in March, alone, driving herself in a nimble two-seater. Up the drive she came, tooting up the incline, then sweeping round the oval of grass, where the two great wild beech-trees stood, on the flat in front of the house.

`Towards whom?'

Still she thought the most beautiful part of her was the long-sloping fall of the haunches from the socket of the back, and the slumberous, round stillness of the buttocks. Like hillocks of sand, the Arabs say, soft and downward-slipping with a long slope. Here the life still lingered hoping. But here too she was thinner, and going unripe, astringent.

ȷ֣ ɻ

`You may feel it, I don't.'<`Oh, nothing, really! But I don't think he wanted me to have the freedom of the castle, quite.'

He looked at her curiously, uneasily, half-suspiciously. And she felt he wasn't telling her the real truth; he wasn't telling himself the real truth, that was it. He disliked any suggestion of a really exceptional human being. People must be more or less at his level, or below it.

ȷ֣йҶ ۻ

The faint smile of mockery narrowed his eyes.

`Why don't men and women really like one another nowadays?' Connie asked Tommy Dukes, who was more or less her oracle.

<`How'd you like to be immunized?' Winterslow asked her, with an ugly smile.`Am I altogether a lonely bird?' he asked, with his queer grin of a smile, as if he had toothache; it was so wry, and his eyes were so perfectly unchangingly melancholy, or stoical, or disillusioned or afraid.

`Yes, but where did he come from?'


<`Shall I get your Ladyship another key then?'`Oh, don't bother! let's get on with today,' said Olive. `Only hurry up with the breeding bottle, and let us poor women off.'

`Oh, nothing, really! But I don't think he wanted me to have the freedom of the castle, quite.'





ȷϰʳüòηרңٽٽ Connie quite liked the life of the mind, and got a great thrill out of it. But she did think it overdid itself a little. She loved being there, amidst the tobacco smoke of those famous evenings of the cronies, as she called them privately to herself. She was infinitely amused, and proud too, that even their talking they could not do, without her silent presence. She had an immense respect for thought...and these men, at least, tried to think honestly. But somehow there was a cat, and it wouldn't jump. They all alike talked at something, though what it was, for the life of her she couldn't say. It was something that Mick didn't clear, either. ϸ

δ˱Ⱦֻ15| ̵2018|Ӳ!56ϰָվۻ׼ :Ⲩ

ȷ˹ϰƽ:Ӯصս `None at all!' said Connie. `But oughtn't there to be?' ϸ

ȷŶͯвηǷĸ̥գרҽ| ̵2018|Ϻ뻦¼ ˱ǿƸ