Towards dusk
he crossed the stile which divides Sanctuary Lane from the churchyard,
and pausing with a leg on either side of the rail, shook his fist back
at the village which lay below, its grey roofs and red chimneys just
distinguishable here and there between a foamy sea of apple-blossom
and a haze of bluish smoke. He could not well shake its dust off his
feet, for this was hardly separable on his boots from the dust of many
other villages, and also it was mostly mud. But his gesture betokened
extreme rancour.
"These Cor-rnishmen," he said, "are pigs all! There is not a
Cor-rnishman that is not a big pig!"
He lifted the second leg wearily over the rail.
"As for Art--"
"Words failed him here, and he spat upon the ground, adding--
"Moreover, they shut up their churches!"
This was really a serious matter; for he had not a penny-piece in his
pocket--the last had gone to buy a loaf--and there was no lodging to
be had in the village. The month was April--a bad time to sleep in
the open; and though the night drew in tranquilly upon a day of broad
sunshine, the earth had by no means sucked down the late heavy rains.
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