Літо
VI
Shenoticedthefan-shapedtraceryofthebrokenlightabovethedoor,theflutingsofthepaintlesspilastersatthecorners,andtheroundwindowsetinthegable;andsheknewthat,forreasonsthatstillescapedher,thesewerethingstobeadmiredandrecorded.Still,theyhadseenotherhousesfarmore“typical”(thewordwasHarney’s);andashethrewthereinsonthehorse’sneckhesaidwithaslightshiverofrepugnance:“Wewon’tstaylong.”
Againsttherestlessaldersturningtheirwhiteliningtothestormthehouselookedsingularlydesolate.Thepaintwasalmostgonefromtheclap-boards,thewindow-paneswerebrokenandpatchedwithrags,andthegardenwasapoisonoustangleofnettles,burdocksandtallswamp-weedsoverwhichbigblue-bottleshummed.
Atthesoundofwheelsachildwithatow-headandpaleeyeslikeLiffHyatt’speeredoverthefenceandthenslippedawaybehindanout-house.HarneyjumpeddownandhelpedCharityout;andashedidsotherainbrokeonthem.Itcameslant-wise,onafuriousgale,layingshrubsandyoungtreesflat,tearingofftheirleaveslikeanautumnstorm,turningtheroadintoariver,andmakinghissingpoolsofeveryhollow.Thunderrolledincessantlythroughtheroaroftherain,andastrangeglitteroflightranalongthegroundundertheincreasingblackness.
“Luckywe’rehereafterall,”Harneylaughed.Hefastenedthehorseunderahalf-rooflessshed,andwrappingCharityinhiscoatranwithhertothehouse.Theboyhadnotreappeared,andastherewasnoresponsetotheirknocksHarneyturnedthedoor-handleandtheywentin.
