This
seemed the likeliest solution of the difficulty, and it made me very sad.
The news about Jack would be whispered round by now, and I could never
walk the old streets again without seeing nods and shudders everywhere.
_See him? That's him! Killed his best friend! Wheatman of the Hanyards!
Never held his head up since! And hadn't ought to!_ The chatter of the
townsfolk crept into my ears between the hoof-beats, and made me sick and
dizzy.
It would not have happened but for the bladder-faced scoundrel ahead of
me, now creeping around like a loathsome insect to sting a man of ancient
name and fame, and I was eager to be at him again. Sultan, without more
urging, had made the furlongs fly in gallant style, and it was time to be
looking out for my landmarks. Nance had made me letter-perfect in them.
Here, on the right, was the woodward's cottage where the road began to run
downhill into a bottom dark with ancient elms: there, on my left, in an
open space among the boles, the moon showed up a worn, grey column which
marked the spot where, in the wild days of the Roses, a Parker Putwell had
slain a Blount in unfair fight for a light of love not worth the blood of
a rabbit.
Pages:
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354