Manchurian Books

III
The next day I did an unexampled thing. I sent a telegram to my uncle,
"Bad temper not coming to business," and set off for Highgate and Ewart.
He was actually at work--on a bust of Millie, and seemed very glad for
any interruption.
"Ewart, you old Fool," I said, "knock off and come for a day's gossip.
I'm rotten. There's a sympathetic sort of lunacy about you. Let's go to
Staines and paddle up to Windsor."
"Girl?" said Ewart, putting down a chisel.
"Yes."
That was all I told him of my affair.
"I've got no money," he remarked, to clear up ambiguity in my
invitation.
We got a jar of shandy-gaff, some food, and, on Ewart's suggestion,
two Japanese sunshades in Staines; we demanded extra cushions at the
boathouse and we spent an enormously soothing day in discourse and
meditation, our boat moored in a shady place this side of Windsor.
I seem to remember Ewart with a cushion forward, only his heels and
sunshade and some black ends of hair showing, a voice and no more,
against the shining, smoothly-streaming mirror of the trees and bushes.


Pages:
270 271 272 273 274 275 276 277 278 279 280 281 282 283 284 285 286 287 288 289 290 291 292 293 294