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Chapter 9

           OnlytheLighthousebeamenteredtheroomsforamoment,sentitssuddenstareoverbedandwallinthedarknessofwinter,lookedwithequanimityatthethistleandtheswallow,theratandthestraw.Nothingnowwithstoodthem;nothingsaidnotothem.Letthewindblow;letthepoppyseeditselfandthecarnationmatewiththecabbage.Lettheswallowbuildinthedrawing-room,andthethistlethrustasidethetiles,andthebutterflysunitselfonthefadedchintzofthearm-chairs.Letthebrokenglassandthechinalieoutonthelawnandbetangledoverwithgrassandwildberries.

           Fornowhadcomethatmoment,thathesitationwhendawntremblesandnightpauses,whenifafeatheralightinthescaleitwillbeweigheddown.Onefeather,andthehouse,sinking,falling,wouldhaveturnedandpitcheddownwardstothedepthsofdarkness.Intheruinedroom,picnickerswouldhavelittheirkettles;loverssoughtshelterthere,lyingonthebareboards;andtheshepherdstoredhisdinneronthebricks,andthetrampsleptwithhiscoatroundhimtowardoffthecold.Thentheroofwouldhavefallen;briarsandhemlockswouldhaveblottedoutpath,stepandwindow;wouldhavegrown,unequallybutlustilyoverthemound,untilsometrespasser,losinghisway,couldhavetoldonlybyared-hotpokeramongthenettles,orascrapofchinainthehemlock,thathereoncesomeonehadlived;therehadbeenahouse.

           Ifthefeatherhadfallen,ifithadtippedthescaledownwards,thewholehousewouldhaveplungedtothedepthstolieuponthesandsofoblivion.

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