She could have kissed. 5 the front door bell pealed, and there sounded the rustle of Sadie's print skirt on the stairs. A man's voice murmured; Sadie answered, careless, "I'm sure i don't know. I'll ask Mrs Sheridan." "What is it, sadie?" laura came into the hall. "It's the florist, miss laura. There, just inside the door, stood a wide, shallow tray full of pots of pink lilies. Nothing but lilies - canna lilies, big pink flowers, wide open, radiant, almost frighteningly alive on bright crimson stems.
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All swimmer the doors in the house seemed to be open. The house was alive with soft, quick steps and running voices. The green baize door that led to the kitchen regions swung open and shut with a muffled thud. And now there came a long, chuckling absurd sound. It was the heavy piano being moved on its stiff castors. If you stopped to notice, was the air always like this? Little faint eliminate winds were playing chase, in at the tops of the windows, out at the doors. And there were two tiny spots of sun, one on the inkpot, one on a silver photograph frame, playing too. Especially the one on the inkpot lid. It was quite warm. A warm little silver star.
One moment - hold the fuller line. Mother's calling." And laura sat back. Sheridan's voice floated down the stairs. "Tell her to wear that sweet hat she had on last Sunday." "Mother says you're to wear that sweet hat you had on last Sunday. Laura put back the receiver, flung her arms over her head, took a deep breath, stretched and let them fall. "Huh she sighed, and the moment after the sigh she sat up quickly. She was still, listening.
Suddenly she couldn't stop herself. She ran at laurie and gave him a small, quick squeeze. "Oh, i do love parties, don't you?" gasped laura. "Ra-ther said laurie's warm, boyish voice, and he squeezed his sister too, and gave her a gentle push. "Dash off to the telephone, old girl.". "Yes, yes; oh yes. It remote will only be a very scratch meal - just the sandwich crusts and broken meringue-shells and what's left over. Yes, isn't it a perfect morning? Oh, i certainly should.
She felt just like a work-girl. 4 "Laura, laura, where are you? Telephone, laura!" a voice cried from the house. "Coming!" Away she skimmed, over the lawn, up the path, up the steps, across the veranda, and into the porch. In the hall her father and laurie were brushing their hats ready to go to the office. "I say, laura said laurie very fast, "you might just give a squiz at my coat before this afternoon. See if it wants pressing." "I will said she.
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He bent down, pinched a sprig of lavender, put his thumb and forefinger to his nose and snuffed up the smell. When laura saw that gesture she forgot all about the karakas in her wonder at him caring for things like that - caring for the smell of lavender. How many men that she knew would have pdf done such a thing? Oh, how extraordinarily nice workmen were, she thought. Why couldn't she have workmen for her friends rather than the silly boys she danced with and who came to sunday night supper? She would get on much better with men like these.
It's all the fault, she decided, as the tall fellow drew something on the back of an envelope, something that was to be looped up or left to hang, of these absurd class distinctions. Well, for her part, she didn't feel them. Not a bit, not an atom. And now there came the chock-chock of wooden hammers. Some one whistled, some one sang out, "Are you right there, matey?" "Matey!" The friendliness of it, the - the - just to prove how happy she was, just to show the tall fellow how at home she felt, and how she despised stupid conventions.
What was he thinking? 3 "Only a very small band said laura gently. Perhaps he wouldn't mind so much if the band was quite small. But the tall fellow interrupted. "look here, miss, that's the place.
Then the karaka-trees would be hidden. And they were so lovely, with their broad, gleaming leaves, and their clusters of yellow fruit. They were like trees you imagined growing on a desert island, proud, solitary, lifting their leaves and fruits to the sun in a kind of silent splendour. Must they be hidden by a marquee? Already the men had shouldered their staves and were making for the place. Only the tall fellow was left.
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They turned, they stared in the direction. A little fat chap thrust out his under-lip, and the tall fellow frowned. "I don't fancy it said. You see, with a thing like a marquee and he turned to type laura in his easy way, "you want to put it somewhere where it'll give you a bang slap in the eye, if you follow.". Laura's upbringing made her wonder for a moment whether it was quite respectful of a workman to talk to her of bangs slap in the eye. But she did quite follow him. "A corner of the tennis-court she suggested. "But the band's going to be in one corner." "H'm, going to have a band, are you?" said another of the workmen. He had a haggard look as his dark eyes scanned the tennis-court.plan
And now she looked at the others, they were smiling too. "Cheer up, we won't bite their smile seemed to say. How very nice workmen were! And what a beautiful morning! She mustn't mention the morning; business she must be business-like. "Well, what about the lily-lawn? And she pointed to the lily-lawn with the hand that didn't hold the bread-and-butter.
together on the garden path. They carried staves covered with rolls of canvas, and they had big tool-bags slung on their backs. Laura wished now that she had not got the bread-and-butter, but there was nowhere to put it, and she couldn't possibly throw it away. She blushed and tried to look severe and even a little bit short-sighted as she came up to them. 2 "Good morning she said, copying her mother's voice. But that sounded so fearfully affected that she was ashamed, and stammered like a little girl, "Oh - er - have you come - is it about the marquee?" "That's right, miss said the tallest of the men, a lanky, freckled fellow, and he shifted. His smile was so easy, so friendly that laura recovered. What nice eyes he had, small, but such a dark blue!
I'm determined to leave everything to you children this year. Forget i am your mother. Treat me as an honoured guest.". But Meg could not possibly essay go and supervise the men. She had washed her hair before breakfast, and she sat drinking her coffee in a green turban, with a dark wet curl stamped on each cheek. Jose, the butterfly, always came down in a silk petticoat and a kimono jacket. "you'll have to go, laura; you're the artistic one.". Away laura flew, still holding her piece of bread-and-butter.
The body: An Essay : Jenny boully
And after all the weather was ideal. They could not have had a more perfect day for a garden-party if they had ordered. Windless, warm, the sky without a cloud. Only the blue was veiled with a haze of light gold, as it is sometimes in early summer. The gardener had been first up since dawn, mowing the lawns and sweeping them, until the grass and the dark flat rosettes where the daisy plants had been seemed to shine. As for the roses, you could not help feeling they understood that roses are the only flowers that impress people at garden-parties; the only flowers that everybody is certain of knowing. Hundreds, yes, literally hundreds, had come out in a single night; the green bushes bowed down as though they had been visited by archangels. Breakfast was not yet over before the men came to put up the marquee. "Where do you want the marquee put, mother?" "My dear child, it's no use asking.