It was a very quiescent Gerda, lethargic and languorous, who lay down by his side that Friday night. It was a very indulgent Christie, grave and tender, who listened now in her room above the shop to his story about ash-trees and draught-boardsā āwho listened to every thought he had, as she lay there with closed eyes!
No system at all! Only to dissolve into thin, fluctuating vapour; only to flow like a serpentine mist into the grave of his father, into the mocking heart of his mother, into the ash-tree, into the wind, into the sands on Weymouth Beach, into the voice of the landlord of Farmerās Rest. No system at all!
Jesusā āā ā¦ Jesusā āā ā¦ Jesusā āā ā¦ Jesus.ā āā ā¦