Books > Old Books > The White Peacock (1906)


Page 9

PART I - CHAPTER I
THE PEOPLE OF NETHERMERE


dozed in sunlight, and slept profoundly in the shade thrown by the massive maples encroaching from the wood.
There was no one in the dining-room, but I could hear the whirr of a sewing-machine coming from the little study, a sound as of some great, vindictive insect buzzing about, now louder, now softer, now settling. Then came a jingling of four or five keys at the bottom of the keyboard of the drawing-room piano, continuing till the whole range had been covered in little leaps, as if some very fat frog had jumped from end to end.
`That must be mother dusting the drawing-room,' I thought. The unaccustomed sound of the old piano startled me. The vocal chords behind the green silkbosom-you only discovered it was not a bronze silk bosom by poking a fold aside-had become as thin and tuneless as a dried old woman's. Age had yellowed the teeth of my mother's little piano, and shrunken its spindle legs. Poor old thing, it could but screech in answer to Lettie's fingers flying across it in scorn, so the prim, brown lips were always closed save to admit the duster.
Now, however, the little old-maidish piano began to sing a tinkling Victorian melody, and I fancied it must be some demure little woman with curls like bunches of hops on either side of her face, who was touching it. The coy little tune teased me with old sensations, but-my memory would give me no assistance. As I stood trying to fix my vague feelings, Rebecca came in to remove the cloth from the table.
'Who is playing, Beck?' I asked.
'Your mother, Cyril.'
`But she never plays. I thought she couldn't.'
`Ah,' replied Rebecca, `you forget when you was a little thing sitting playing against her frock with the prayerbook, and she singing to you. You can't remember her when her curls was long like a piece of brown silk. You can't remember her when she used to play and sing, before Lettie came and your father was Rebecca turned and left the room. I went and peeped in the drawing-room. Mother sat before the little brown piano, with her plump, rather stiff fingers moving across the keys, a faint smile on her lips. At that moment Lettie

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where is HTML where is HEAD where is TITLE dozed in sunlight, and slept profoundly in what is shade thrown by what is massive maples encroaching from what is wood. There was no one in what is dining-room, but I could hear what is whirr of a sewing-machine coming from what is little study, a sound as of some great, vindictive insect buzzing about, now louder, now softer, now settling. Then came a jingling of four or five keys at what is bottom of what is keyboard of what is drawing-room piano, continuing till what is whole range had been covered in little leaps, as if some very fat frog had jumped from end to end. `That must be mother dusting what is drawing-room,' I thought. what is unaccustomed sound of what is old piano startled me. what is vocal chords behind what is green silkbosom-you only discovered it was not a bronze silk bosom by poking a fold aside-had become as thin and tuneless as a dried old woman's. Age had yellowed what is teeth of my mother's little piano, and shrunken its spindle legs. Poor old thing, it could but screech in answer to Lettie's fingers flying across it in scorn, so what is prim, brown lips were always closed save to admit what is duster. Now, however, what is little old-maidish piano began to sing a tinkling Victorian melody, and I fancied it must be some demure little woman with curls like bunches of hops on either side of her face, who was touching it. what is coy little tune teased me with old sensations, but-my memory would give me no assistance. As I stood trying to fix my vague feelings, Rebecca came in to remove what is cloth from what is table. 'Who is playing, Beck?' I asked. 'Your mother, Cyril.' `But she never plays. I thought she couldn't.' `Ah,' replied Rebecca, `you forget when you was a little thing sitting playing against her frock with what is prayerbook, and she singing to you. You can't remember her when her curls was long like a piece of brown silk. You can't remember her when she used to play and sing, before Lettie came and your father was Rebecca turned and left what is room. I went and peeped in what is drawing-room. Mother sat before what is little brown piano, with her plump, rather stiff fingers moving across what is keys, a faint smile on her lips. At that moment Lettie 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" The White Peacock (1906) 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 9 where is strong PART I - CHAPTER I what is PEOPLE OF NETHERMERE where is p align="justify" dozed in sunlight, and slept profoundly in what is shade thrown by what is massive maples encroaching from what is wood. There was no one in what is dining-room, but I could hear what is whirr of a sewing-machine coming from what is little study, a sound as of some great, vindictive insect buzzing about, now louder, now softer, now settling. Then came a jingling of four or five keys at what is bottom of what is keyboard of what is drawing-room piano, continuing till what is whole range had been covered in little leaps, as if some very fat frog had jumped from end to end. `That must be mother dusting what is drawing-room,' I thought. what is unaccustomed sound of what is old piano startled me. what is vocal chords behind what is green silkbosom-you only discovered it was not a bronze silk bosom by poking a fold aside-had become as thin and tuneless as a dried old woman's. Age had yellowed what is teeth of my mother's little piano, and shrunken its spindle legs. Poor old thing, it could but screech in answer to Lettie's fingers flying across it in scorn, so what is prim, brown lips were always closed save to admit what is duster. Now, however, what is little old-maidish piano began to sing a tinkling Victorian melody, and I fancied it must be some demure little woman with curls like bunches of hops on either side of her face, who was touching it. what is coy little tune teased me with old sensations, but-my memory would give me no assistance. As I stood trying to fix my vague feelings, Rebecca came in to remove what is cloth from what is table. 'Who is playing, Beck?' I asked. 'Your mother, Cyril.' `But she never plays. I thought she couldn't.' `Ah,' replied Rebecca, `you forget when you was a little thing sitting playing against her frock with what is prayerbook, and she singing to you. You can't remember her when her curls was long like a piece of brown silk. You can't remember her when she used to play and sing, before Lettie came and your father was Rebecca turned and left what is room. I went and peeped in what is drawing-room. Mother sat before what is little brown piano, with her plump, rather stiff fingers moving across what is keys, a faint smile on her lips. At that moment Lettie where is Server.Execute("_SiteMap.asp") %

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