Maggie was standing in a hall that smelt of damp and
geraniums. It was intensely dark, and a shrill scream from somewhere
did not make things more pleasant.
"That's Edward the parrot," said Aunt Anne. "Take care not to
approach him too closely, dear, because he bites."
Then they went upstairs, Maggie groping her way and stumbling at the
sharp corners. The darkness grew; she knocked her knee on the corner
of something, cried out, and a suddenly opened door threw a pale
green light upon a big picture of men in armour attacking a
fortified town beneath a thundery sky. This picture wavered and
faltered, hung as it was upon a thin cord strained to breaking-
point. Maggie reached the security of the room beyond the passage,
her shoulders bent a little as though she expected to near at every
instant the crashing collapse of the armoured men. Her eyes unused
to the light, she stumbled into the room, fell into some one's arms,
felt that her poor hat was crooked and her cheeks burning, and then
was rebuked, as it seemed, by the piercing cry of Edward the parrot
from the very bowels of the house.
She stammered something to the man who had held her and then let her
go.
Pages:
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105