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to the station together sat just beyond Mrs. Punt and her son, doing her share in the hospitalities, and ever and again glancing at him with a deliberately encouraging smile. Once she leant over the back of the chair to him and whispered cheeringly: Soon be together now. Next to her sat Johnson, profoundly silent, and then Annie, talking vigorously to a friend. Uncle Pentstemon was eating voraciously opposite, cheap supra shoes but with a kindling eye for Annie. Mrs. Larkins sat next to Mr. Voules. She was unable to eat a mouthful, she declared, it would choke her, but ever and again Mr. Voules wooed her to swallow a little drop of liquid refreshment.
There seemed a lot of rice upon everybody, in their hats and Supra Owen UK hair and the folds of their garments.
Presently Mr. Voules was hammering the table for the fourth time in the interests of the Best Man. . . .
All feasts come to an end at last, and the breakup of things was precipitated by alarming symptoms on the part of Master Punt. He was taken out hastily after a whispered consultation, and since he had got into the corner between the fireplace and the cupboard, that meant everyone moving to make way for him. Johnson took the opportunity to say, Well so long, to anyone who might be listening, and disappear. Mr. Polly found himself smoking a cigarette and walking up and down outside in the company of longchamp outlet store Uncle Pentstemon, while Mr. Voules replaced bottles in hampers and prepared for departure, and the womenkind of the party crowded upstairs with the bride. Mr. Polly felt taciturn, but the events of the day had stirred the mind of Uncle Pentstemon to speech. And so he spoke, discursively and disconnectedly, a little heedless of his listener as wise old men will.
They do say, said Uncle Pentstemon, one funeral makes many. This time its a wedding. But its all very much of a muchness, said Uncle Pentstemon. . . .
Am do get in my teeth nowadays, said Uncle Pentstemon, I cant understand it. Tisnt like there was nubbicks or strings or such in am. Its a plain food.
Thats better, he said at last.
You got to get married, said Uncle Pentstemon. Some has. Some haint. I done it long before I was your age. It haint for me to blame you. You cant elp being the marrying sort any more than me. Its natral-like poaching or drinking or wind on the stummik. You cant elp it and there you are! As for the good of it, there aint no particular good in it as I can see. Its a toss up. The hotter come, the sooner cold, but they all gets tired of it sooner or later. . . . I haint no grounds to complain. Two Ive ad and berried, and might ave ad a third, and never no worrit with kids never. . . .
You done well not to ave the big gal. I will say that for ye. Shes a gad-about grinny, she is, if ever was. A gad-about grinny. Mucked up my mushroom bed to rights, she did, and I avent forgot it. Got the feet of a centipede, she as ll over everything and neither with your l 2013-10-25 .


By |2022-07-06T12:09:35+00:00July 6, 2022|Uncategorized|0 Comments

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