He explained the philosophy of
authors to them in brutal sentences. "Leave me alone, you little
botherations!" he cried. "I'm in the middle of a scene in a
storicalnovul." It was disgraceful that a man could lose his temper
so. "Leave me alone, or I'll ..."
In the corner of the big nursery sofa there was sudden silence. It was
a chilly evening in early spring. Between the bars across the windows
the wisteria leaves sifted the setting sunlight. The railway train lay
motionless upon the speckled carpet. A cat, so fat it couldn't unroll,
lay in a ball of mystery against the high guard of wire netting before
the fire. Outside the wind went moaning.
And Time ran backwards, or else the clock stopped dead. Dusk slipped
in between the window bars. The cedars on the lawn became gigantic.
They heard the haystacks shuffling out of their tarpaulins. The whole
house rose into the air and floated off. Mother, Daddy, Nurses, beds
dropped from the windows as it sailed away. All were left behind,
forgotten details of some stupid and uncomfortable life elsewhere.
"Quite ready," sighed the top of one cedar to the other.
"And waiting, too," an answer came from nowhere.
Pages:
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84