Arthur Pitts of Hermitage died that autumn and so did Marlowe, the sexton, whose two boys had been killed, one in France and one at sea. Sam and Joannie Potter lost their youngest, a baby of eighteen months, and Cissie Potter, now Cissie Bellchamber, lost the child sired by Jem, the Bideford Goli...
Sitting at the head of the library table, flanked by sons, a son-in-law and daughter, he felt himself to be playing a part in a charade at a Christmas party, and when he told Claire that he felt amateur in the role, she said, cheerfully, ‘Well, it always makes me a little edgy but if there’s an i...
It had made all his personal contacts stale and profitless, as though every sentence he exchanged with the few people he did meet was the kind one might exchange in a railway compartment and this stricture, this hedged-in feeling, had extended even to Sybil and certainly to his son and daughter. ...
He flies inland over the Bluff, crossing in two minutes a cliff that an active man cannot scale in under an hour and heads for Deepdene Farm to see if there are any pickings to be had from the Willoughbys. Then he flies low over High Coombe, veering north-west along the edge of the wind, croaking...
“Why?” “There’s no telling what might happen next time you come sharing your troubles. For my part that is, to say nothing of yours.” The remark was intended to convey more than it said but somehow he missed the hint, saying, “You’re not telling me a person as level headed as you would be bothere...