No hope of getting any money out of her, nor would Charles
have left him a penny. It was a rotten, unsympathetic world, and
Uncle Mathew cursed God as he strutted sulkily along. Maggie also
had fallen into silence.
They came at last out of the wood and stood at the edge of it, with
the pine trees behind them, looking down over Polchester. On this
winter's afternoon Polchester with the thin covering of snow upon
its roofs sparkled like a city under glass. The Cathedral was dim in
the mist of the early dusk and the sun, setting behind the hill,
with its last rays caught the windows so that they blazed through
the haze like smoking fires. Whilst Maggie and her uncle stood there
the bells began to ring for Evensong, and the sound like a faint
echo seemed to come from behind them out of the wood. In the spring
all the Polchester orchards would be white and pink with blossom, in
the summer the river that encircled the city wall would run like a
blue scarf between its green sloping hills--now there was frost and
snow and mist with the fires smouldering at its heart. She gazed at
it now as she had never gazed at it before.
Pages:
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50