He had supposed her
dismissed to an entirely subordinate position. . . .
Then he perceived that the workmen in the chalk pit far below had
knocked off and were engaged upon their midday meal. He understood
why his mind was no longer moving forward with any alacrity.
Food?
The question where he should eat arose abruptly and dismissed all
other problems from his mind. He unfolded a map. Here must be the
chalk pit, here was Dorking. That village was Brockham Green.
Should he go down to Dorking or this way over Box Hill to the little
inn at Burford Bridge. He would try the latter.
14
The April sunset found our young man talking to himself for greater
emphasis, and wandering along a turfy cart-track through a
wilderness mysteriously planted with great bushes of rhododendra on
the Downs above Shere. He had eaten a belated lunch at Burford
Bridge, he had got some tea at a little inn near a church with a
splendid yew tree, and for the rest of the time he had wandered and
thought. He had travelled perhaps a dozen or fifteen miles, and a
good way from his first meditations above the Dorking chalk pit.
Pages:
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218