England -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
Through the town she went with that easy step and indifference to the
presence of other people that Denah so criticised, faster and faster
her spirits rising. Once or twice she looked in at the low windows
that stood open on the shady side of the street; there she saw the
heads of families smoking their after-dinner pipes, while their wives
and daughters sat crocheting and watching the passersby. There were
chairs with crimson velvet seats in most of the rooms, and funny
little cabinet, or side-board things of bright red mahogany, with
modern Delft vases, very blue indeed, upon them. And always there was
a certain snugness, perhaps even smugness, about the rooms. At least,
so it seemed to her as she looked in, almost insolently pleased to be
outside, to be free and alone.
In time she came to the outskirts of the town, the canal lay on her
right, and on her left, flat green fields, cut up by innumerable
ditches, and set with frequent windmills, all black and white, and
mostly used for maintaining the water level. There were people busy
in the fields, but to Julia they only gave the idea of ants, and did
not intrude upon her mind in the least. It was all very quiet and
green around, and quiet and blue above, except for the larks singing
rapturously. Certainly it was very good to be away from the Van
Heigens, away from the ceaseless little reiteration of Mevrouw's talk,
from the minute, punctilious conventions, from Joost's quiet gaze,
from the proximity of the hateful, necessary blue daffodil. With a
violent rebound Julia shook off the feeling that had been growing on
her of late, and was once more possibly reckless, but certainly free,
and no longer under the spell of her surroundings. Her young blood
coursed quickly, her eyes shone, the basket she carried grew light;
she might have sung as she went had not Nature, in withholding the
ability, also kindly withheld the inclination.
Soon after leaving the town, a side road cut into the main one; a
waggon was lumbering down it at no great pace, but just before the
branch road joined the main one the driver cracked his whip loudly, so
that his team of young horses started forward suddenly. Too suddenly
for the comprehension of some children who were playing in the road;
for a second or more they looked at the approaching waggon, then, when
the necessity dawned upon them, they ran for safety, one one way, one
another, and the third, a baby boy, like a chicken, half across the
way to the right, then, after a scurry in the middle, back again to
the left, under the horses' feet.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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