She calls her children home in their dark language. A shiver of the trees, signal, the evening wind. The shadows of the mosques along the pillars: priest with a scroll rolled up. Drink water scented with fennel, sherbet. Dark caves of carpet shops, big man, Turko the terrible, seated crosslegged smoking a coiled pipe. Walk along a strand, strange land, come to a city gate, sentry there, old ranker too, old Tweedy's big moustaches leaning on a long kind of a spear. Keep it up for ever never grow a day older technically. Somewhere in the east: early morning: set off at dawn, travel round in front of the sun, steal a day's march on him. Boland's breadvan delivering with trays our daily but she prefers yesterday's loaves turnovers crisp crowns hot. His eyelids sank quietly often as he walked in happy warmth. Black conducts, reflects (refracts is it?), the heat. Specially in these black clothes feel it more. The sun was nearing the steeple of George's church. He crossed to the bright side, avoiding the loose cellarflap of number seventyfive. He pulled the halldoor to after him very quietly, more, till the footleaf dropped gently over the threshold, a limp lid. On the doorstep he felt in his hip pocket for the latchkey. He peeped quickly inside the leather headband. The sweated legend in the crown of his hat told him mutely: Plasto's high grade ha. Daresay lots of officers are in the swim too. His hand took his hat from the peg over his initialled heavy overcoat, and his lost property office secondhand waterproof. Still he had brains enough to make that corner in stamps. I rose from the ranks, sir, and I'm proud of it. He heard then a warm heavy sigh, softer, as she turned over and the loose brass quoits of the bedstead jingled. Be back in a minute.Īnd when he had heard his voice say it he added: Thin bread and butter she likes in the morning. On quietly creaky boots he went up the staircase to the hall, paused by the bedroom door. Nothing she can eat? He glanced round him. Why are their tongues so rough? To lap better, all porous holes. She lapped slower, then licking the saucer clean. Thursday: not a good day either for a mutton kidney at Buckley's. Why? They shine in the dark, perhaps, the tips. Wonder is it true if you clip them they can't mouse after. He watched the bristles shining wirily in the weak light as she tipped three times and licked lightly. Then he went to the dresser, took the jug Hanlon's milkman had just filled for him, poured warmbubbled milk on a saucer and set it slowly on the floor. He watched the dark eyeslits narrowing with greed till her eyes were green stones.
She blinked up out of her avid shameclosing eyes, mewing plaintively and long, showing him her milkwhite teeth. I never saw such a stupid pussens as the pussens.Ĭruel. Afraid of the chickens she is, he said mockingly. They understand what we say better than we understand them.