Grey Wethers: A Romantic NovelSackville-West, V. (Victoria)
General
Grey Wethers: A Romantic Novel
Sackville-West, V. (Victoria)
Great Britain -- Social life and customs -- 20th century -- Fiction; Romance fiction; Social classes -- Fiction
Lovel rode slowly away along the back of the Down, the woolly flock
tossing and huddling along in front of him, in a hurried, senseless
way, controlled by the barking of the two sheepdogs, who were swift to
chase up a straggler, or to straighten out any unseemly bulge at the
side of the flock,--that same flock that he had bought at Marlborough
fair for Farmer Morland. Lovel, knowing he could trust his dogs, rode
in an abstraction. The afternoon sun cast fitful, fan-shaped gleams
down through the thin clouds, like sunbeams passed through a sieve, or
seen through a veil of the finest rain; it produced an effect of shadow
and wet gold familiar to him in his comings and goings over the Downs,
but now for the first time it occurred to him to compare the outside
world with his own life; and, while his meetings with Clare might
stand for that wet gold, the shadows fell mournfully into a yet more
inevitable analogy.
He came down into the village by dusk, regretful as ever to exchange
the heights for the hollow. Up there he seemed to shake off for a
little the burden of his life, which as soon as he re-entered the ring
of the village he resumed. He was, however, too well-accustomed to this
sensation to pay any particular attention as he passed through the
gap of the embankment. “Charmed circle,” his mother had often croaked
to him, but he always shrugged disdainfully, knowing well that his
imagination was all too ready to be led away along such lines, and
being determined to keep his good sense wholesomely about him. The
tossing woolly backs of the sheep preceded him now in a long wedge,
four or five abreast, down the narrow road; they bleated uneasily, and
tried to break through the hedge on either side. “Poor silly things,
ye don’t like being penned up any better than the rest of us,” Lovel
said to them, as he bent from his horse to open the gate into the
field, and called to his dogs to head off the flock, which crowded back
helter-skelter through the gate and then dispersed themselves in a
sudden browsing content in the field among the monoliths.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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