Chapter 3 two

two Tea came late and sumptuous, with eggs, cream and jam, and fresh pancakes topped with saffron-coloured, and Gardon delivered a tirade on the Celts.He was talking of the Celtic awakening; the discovery of Celtic blood in the master's family excited his self-confident Celtic too.He was stretched out on a chair stuffed with horse hair, with a hand-rolled cigarette dangling from the corner of his crooked mouth, and the smoke was dripping down. In Ashurst's eyes, in his mouth, he praised the Welsh upbringing.To leave Wales and come to England is like using pottery instead of china!Frank, being a detestable Englishman, certainly couldn't see the gentleness and richness of emotion in the Welsh girl!Gently scratching the wet locks of black hair, he explained how exactly she exemplified in her living image the writings of the twelfth-century Welsh poet Morgan.

Ashurst was lying on the Semahair sofa with his whole body stretched out from the sofa.He was smoking a dark pipe, not listening to Garton, and was thinking about the girl's looks when she brought another pancake.He looked exactly as if he were looking at a flower or some other natural beauty--until she gave an amusing shudder, dropped her eyes, and walked out, as still as a mouse. "Let's go to the kitchen," Gardon said, "and see her more." The kitchen is a whitewashed room.There were some cured hams hanging from the rafters, potted flowers on the window sills, guns on nails, rare mugs, china and pewter vessels, and several portraits of Queen Victoria.Many bowls and spoons were placed on a long and narrow rough wooden table, and a bunch of onions hung high above the table; two shepherd dogs and three cats lay scatteredly.On one side of the recessed fireplace sat two boys and children, idle and well behaved; on the other sat a robust young man with pale eyes and a red face, the color of his hair and eyelashes as if he were cleaning a gun. between them, Mrs. Narracomb was absently stirring a great-smelling yam in a cauldron.The other two dark-haired youths, with their eyes tilted up slightly, looked a bit sly, and they were leaning against the wall talking lazily like the two boys; Naked, in a pair of corduroy trousers, sitting at the window, poring over a battered magazine, the girl Megan seemed to be the only active figure—she drew cider from a barrel, poured it into several flagon jugs, Bring it to the table.Gardon, seeing that they were about to eat, said:

"Ah! We'll come back after you've had your supper, if you'll let me." Without waiting for an answer, they retreated into the living room.But the color and warmth and all those faces in the kitchen made their bright room all the more forlorn.They sat down again gloomily. "True gypsy type, these boys. There's only one Saxon--the guy who wipes the gun. The girl is a wonderfully subtle character from a psychological point of view." Ashurst's lips curled.He felt that Garton was really an ass at the moment. What a subtle character worth studying!She is a wild flower.A little thing that makes you feel good.What are the characters worth studying!

Garton continued: "Emotionally, she can be amazing, and she needs to be awakened." "Are you going to wake her up?" Gardon looked at him and smiled. "How vulgar and English you are!" he seemed to say with this wrinkled smile. Ashurst was smoking his pipe.Wake her up!This idiot thinks very highly of himself!He pushed open the window and leaned out.Twilight is already thick.The farm houses and waterwheel fences were blurred and bluish; the apple orchards were nothing but a blackened wilderness; the air smelled of wood-burning smoke in the kitchen.A bird, alone and not home, twittered dispiritedly, as though startled by the darkness of night.From the stable came the snort and hoof of a horse being fed.A wasteland looms in the distance, and shy stars that are not yet bright enough are embedded in the deep blue sky.A trilling owl hooted.Ashurst took a deep breath.What a beautiful night, how nice to go out for a walk!There was a sound of unshod hooves hitting the path, and three vague shadows walked by——

It is a pony that comes out for a walk at dusk.Their heads, black and hairy, are reflected above the gate.He struck the pipe, and a shower of sparks fell, and the horse backed away, and then fled.A bat flapped its wings and flew by, making a barely audible "branch, rip" sound.Ashurst stretched out his hand; felt the dew on the upturned palm.Suddenly, there was a child's loud voice, the light bouncing sound of boots being thrown on the ground, and another voice, crisp and soft—— It was undoubtedly the voice of the girl who was putting them to bed; it was her clearly written words: "No, Rick, you can't put cats in beds;" followed by a mingled giggle The sound and the chatter of a child, a light slap and a low, beautiful laugh that made him tremble slightly.He heard a blow and fiddled with the twilight candles over his head to go out; silence reigned.Ashurst drew back into the room, and sat down again; his knees ached, and his mood was gloomy.

"You go to the kitchen," he said; "I'm going to bed."