Читать книгу The Perfect World. A romance of strange people and strange places онлайн

12 страница из 96

The room they were ushered into was old-world and sweet. The lattice windows were open wide, letting in the soft, fresh air of summer. The ceiling was low and beamed, and the furniture was of old dark oak; while the bright chintz hangings took away all hint of sombreness. The table was laid, and within a few minutes of their arrival they were sitting down to an appetizing repast.

Neither of them spoke for some time, and then Desmond laid down his knife and fork with a sigh.

“I’m done” said he.

“I should just think you were” laughed his cousin “You’ve been stuffing incessantly for over half an hour” Alan rang the bell for the table to be cleared and then they lit their pipes.

“How do you feel?” asked Desmond.

“Very tired—very sore—and very bruised”

“So am I. I think I shall like the life of a miner, though”

“Rather! What a ripping set of chaps they are!”

So they chattered on until it was time for them to retire. At peace with each other, at peace with the world, they slept until a knock at their bedroom door awakened them.