XIII

           

           Darrow,latethatevening,threwhimselfintoanarmchairbeforehisfireandmused.

           Theroomwaspropitioustomeditation.Thered-veiledlamp,thecornersofshadow,thesplashesoffirelightonthecurvesofoldfull-bodiedwardrobesandcabinets,gaveitanairofintimacyincreasedbyitsfadedhangings,itsslightlyfrayedandthreadbarerugs.Everythinginitwasharmoniouslyshabby,withasubtlesought-forshabbinessinwhichDarrowfanciedhediscernedthetouchofFraserLeath.ButFraserLeathhadgrownsounimportantafactorintheschemeofthingsthatthesemarksofhispresencecausedtheyoungmannoemotionbeyondthatofafaintretrospectiveamusement.

           Theafternoonandeveninghadbeenperfect.

           Afteramomentofconcernoverherstep-son’sdeparture,AnnahadsurrenderedherselftoherhappinesswithanimpetuositythatDarrowhadneversuspectedinher.Earlyintheafternoontheyhadgoneoutinthemotor,traversingmilesofsober-tintedlandscapeinwhich,hereandthere,ascarletvineyardflamed,clatteringthroughthestreetsofstonyvillages,comingoutonlowslopesabovetheriver,orwindingthroughthepalegoldofnarrowwood-roadswiththeblueofclear-cuthillsattheirend.Overeverythinglayafaintsunshinethatseemeddissolvedinthestillair,andthesmellofwetrootsanddecayingleaveswasmergedinthepungentscentofburningunderbrush.

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