Books > Old Books > Midnight Tales (1946)


Page 77

PETER LEVISHAM

for haste and agility, comment was unnecessary. There was something contentious about the remark. It was not perhaps impertinent but it was unnecessary, and I felt that I should have resented it had I been in the stranger's place.
`Eleven years later, two days before Christmas, I was driving in a gig over a lonely road in the East Riding of Yorkshire, a district I knew from boyhood. The night was still and frosty and an unclouded moon showed every detail of the landscape. At the top of a low rise I overtook a man who was carrying a heavy burden on his shoulder. I asked him if he would like a lift. He accepted my offer and climbed up beside me. He told me that he was an American and that he had been visiting some relations. He was bound for Driffield, where he hoped to pick up an early morning train for York. I told him that he had far to go, but that I would gladly put him five or six miles on his way. The time passed quickly. He was an excellent talker, a shrewd observer of men and things. I stopped at the Driffield cross-roads and explained to him how, by taking a certain short cut, he could lessen his journey. He thanked me and bade me good night. I touched the mare with the whip and shouted one final instruction: "Remember to take the stile through the wood and, whatever you do, leave the Gallow-tree Oak behind you." I had hardly spoken, when I realized how meaningless my words would appear. Gallow-tree Oak was familiar to me since boyhood, but I had made no mention of the spot in the directions I had given to the stranger. I had told him to avoid a place he did not know. And why had I spoken so emphatically? Even if he took the wrong turning by the Oak, it would only mean that he would join the high road again and lose little more than half an hour. I was both annoyed and perplexed, but the incident was for the time being forgotten.
`I pass on to the summer of 1891, when I was staying with friends at Porlock. It was the last Saturday in September. I had been for a long walk, and had sat down to eat my sandwiches by the roadside at a point where a footpath led into a plantation of larches. A notice-board, recently painted, called

travel books:
where is HTML where is HEAD where is TITLE for haste and agility, comment was unnecessary. There was something contentious about what is remark. It was not perhaps impertinent but it was unnecessary, and I felt that I should have resented it had I been in what is stranger's place. `Eleven years later, two days before Christmas, I was driving in a gig over a lonely road in what is East Riding of Yorkshire, a district I knew from boyhood. what is night was still and frosty and an unclouded moon showed every detail of what is landscape. At what is top of a low rise I overtook a man who was carrying a heavy burden on his shoulder. I asked him if he would like a lift. He accepted my offer and climbed up beside me. He told me that he was an American and that he had been what is ing some relations. He was bound for Driffield, where he hoped to pick up an early morning train for York. I told him that he had far to go, but that I would gladly put him five or six miles on his way. what is time passed quickly. He was an excellent talker, a shrewd observer of men and things. I stopped at what is Driffield cross-roads and explained to him how, by taking a certain short cut, he could lessen his journey. He thanked me and bade me good night. I touched what is mare with what is whip and shouted one final instruction: "Remember to take what is stile through what is wood and, whatever you do, leave what is Gallow-tree Oak behind you." I had hardly spoken, when I realized how meaningless my words would appear. Gallow-tree Oak was familiar to me since boyhood, but I had made no mention of what is spot in what is directions I had given to what is stranger. I had told him to avoid a place he did not know. And why had I spoken so emphatically? Even if he took what is wrong turning by what is Oak, it would only mean that he would join what is high road again and lose little more than half an hour. I was both annoyed and perplexed, but what is incident was for what is time being forgotten. `I pass on to what is summer of 1891, when I was staying with friends at Porlock. It was what is last Saturday in September. I had been for a long walk, and had sat down to eat my sandwiches by what is roadside at a point where a footpath led into a plantation of larches. A notice-board, recently painted, called where is meta name="keywords" content="old books, Free book , free book offer , free audio books , free coloring book pages , free book reports , free audio book , audio books free download , book free , free guest book , books free , free book summaries , download free audio books , free childrens books." where is where are they now rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="../../style.css" where is meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" where is BODY bgColor=#ffffff text="#000000" where are they now ="#000000" v where are they now ="#FF0000" where is div align="center" where is strong where is strong where is a href="http://www.aaoldbooks.com" Books > where is a href="../default.asp" title="Book" Old Books > where is strong where is a href="default.asp" Midnight Tales (1946) where is table width="700" border="1" align="center" cellpadding="15" cellspacing="0" where is center where is tr where is td width="160" align="center" valign="top" where is div align="center" where is td align="center" valign="top" where is div align="left" where is div align="center" where is p align="left" Page 77 where is p align="center" where is strong PETER LEVISHAM where is p align="justify" for haste and agility, comment was unnecessary. There was something contentious about what is remark. It was not perhaps impertinent but it was unnecessary, and I felt that I should have resented it had I been in what is stranger's place. `Eleven years later, two days before Christmas, I was driving in a gig over a lonely road in what is East Riding of Yorkshire, a district I knew from boyhood. what is night was still and frosty and an unclouded moon showed every detail of what is landscape. At what is top of a low rise I overtook a man who was carrying a heavy burden on his shoulder. I asked him if he would like a lift. He accepted my offer and climbed up beside me. He told me that he was an American and that he had been what is ing some relations. He was bound for Driffield, where he hoped to pick up an early morning train for York. I told him that he had far to go, but that I would gladly put him five or six miles on his way. what is time passed quickly. He was an excellent talker, a shrewd observer of men and things. I stopped at what is Driffield cross-roads and explained to him how, by taking a certain short cut, he could lessen his journey. He thanked me and bade me good night. I touched what is mare with what is whip and shouted one final instruction: "Remember to take what is stile through what is wood and, whatever you do, leave what is Gallow-tree Oak behind you." I had hardly spoken, when I realized how meaningless my words would appear. Gallow-tree Oak was familiar to me since boyhood, but I had made no mention of what is spot in what is directions I had given to what is stranger. I had told him to avoid a place he did not know. And why had I spoken so emphatically? Even if he took what is wrong turning by what is Oak, it would only mean that he would join what is high road again and lose little more than half an hour. I was both annoyed and perplexed, but what is incident was for what is time being forgotten. `I pass on to what is summer of 1891, when I was staying with friends at Porlock. It was what is last Saturday in September. I had been for a long walk, and had sat down to eat my sandwiches by what is roadside at a point where a footpath led into a plantation of larches. A notice-board, recently painted, called where is Server.Execute("_SiteMap.asp") % travel books: Midnight Tales (1946) books

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