On Harbinger's face, too, there had come
a look of stubborn violence slowly working up towards the surface.
"I said: 'Good, isn't it?' Mr. Courtier."
"I heard you."
"And you were pleased to answer?"
"Nothing."
"With the civility which might be expected of your habits."
Coldly disdainful, Courtier answered:
"If you want to say that sort of thing, please choose a place where I
can reply to you," and turned abruptly on his heel.
But he ground his teeth as he made his way out into the street.
In Hyde Park the grass was parched and dewless under a sky whose stars
were veiled by the heat and dust haze. Never had Courtier so bitterly
wanted the sky's consolation--the blessed sense of insignificance in
the face of the night's dark beauty, which, dwarfing all petty rage
and hunger, made men part of its majesty, exalted them to a sense of
greatness.
CHAPTER VII
It was past four o'clock the following day when Barbara issued from
Valleys House on foot; clad in a pale buff frock, chosen for quietness,
she attracted every eye. Very soon entering a taxi-cab, she drove to
the Temple, stopped at the Strand entrance, and walked down the little
narrow lane into the heart of the Law. Its votaries were hurrying back
from the Courts, streaming up from their Chambers for tea, or escaping
desperately to Lord's or the Park--young votaries, unbound as yet by the
fascination of fame or fees.
Pages:
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238