Холодний дім

The Ghost’s Walk

           Sowiththedogsinthekennel-buildingsacrossthepark,whohavetheirrestlessfitsandwhosedolefulvoiceswhenthewindhasbeenveryobstinatehaveevenmadeitknowninthehouseitselfupstairs,downstairs,andinmyLady’schamber.Theymayhuntthewholecountry-side,whiletheraindropsarepatteringroundtheirinactivity.Sotherabbitswiththeirself-betrayingtails,friskinginandoutofholesatrootsoftrees,maybelivelywithideasofthebreezydayswhentheirearsareblownaboutorofthoseseasonsofinterestwhentherearesweetyoungplantstognaw.Theturkeyinthepoultry-yard,alwaystroubledwithaclass-grievance(probablyChristmas),maybereminiscentofthatsummermorningwrongfullytakenfromhimwhenhegotintothelaneamongthefelledtrees,wheretherewasabarnandbarley.Thediscontentedgoose,whostoopstopassundertheoldgateway,twentyfeethigh,maygabbleout,ifweonlyknewit,awaddlingpreferenceforweatherwhenthegatewaycastsitsshadowontheground.Bethisasitmay,thereisnotmuchfancyotherwisestirringatChesneyWold.Iftherebealittleatanyoddmoment,itgoes,likealittlenoiseinthatoldechoingplace,alongwayandusuallyleadsofftoghostsandmystery.IthasrainedsohardandrainedsolongdowninLincolnshirethatMrs.Rouncewell,theoldhousekeeperatChesneyWold,hasseveraltimestakenoffherspectaclesandcleanedthemtomakecertainthatthedropswerenotupontheglasses.Mrs.

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Roboto Lora
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