Down the pale sky came a swallow, with another in chase:
their wings were motionless as they swept past the doorway, but the
air whizzed with the speed of their flight, and in a moment was silent
again. Then from the upper room a man's voice began to roar out upon
the stillness. It roared, it broke out in thick sobs that shook the
closed windows in their fastenings, it wrestled with emotion for
utterance, and, overcoming it, rose into a bellow again; but, whether
soaring or depressed, the strain upon it was never relaxed. Uncle
Penberthy, listening to his son, felt an oppression of his own chest
and drew his breath uneasily.
The tin-smith came round the corner and halted by the door.
"That son o' yours is a boundless man," he observed with an upward
nod.
"How did he strike ye this morning?"
"I don't remember to have been so powerfully moved in my life. Perhaps
you and me being cronies for thirty year, and he your very son, may
have helped to the more effectual working; but be that as it may, I
couldn't master my dinner afterwards, and that's the trewth.
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