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Page 66

PART I - CHAPTER VI
THE EDUCATION OF GEORGE

months. There is no heat, no hurry, no thirst and weariness in corn harvest as there is in the hay. If the season is late, as is usual with us, then mid-September sees the corn still standing in stook. The mornings come slowly. The earth is like a woman married and fading; she does not leap up with a laugh for the first fresh kiss of dawn, but slowly, quietly, unexpectantly lies watching the waking of each new day. The blue mist, like memory in the eyes of a neglected wife, never goes from the wooded hill, and only at noon creeeps from the near hedges. There is no bird to put a song in the throat of morning; only the crow's voice speaks during the day. Perhaps there is the regular breathing hush of the scythe-even the fretful jar of the mowing machine. But next day, in the morning, all is still again. The lying corn is wet, and when you have bound it, and lift the heavy sheaf to make the stook, the tresses of oats wreathe round each other and droop mournfully.
As I worked with my friend through the still mornings we talked endlessly. I would give him the gist of what I knew of chemistry, and botany, and psychology. Day after day I told him what the professors had told me; of life, of sex and its origins; of Schopenhauer and William .James. We had been friends for years, and he was accustomed to my talk. But this autumn fruited the first crop of intimacy between us. I talked a great deal of poetry to him, and of rudimentary metaphysics. He was very good stuff. He had hardly a single dogma, save that of pleasing himself. Religion was nothing to him. So he heard all I had to say with an open mind, and understood the drift of things very rapidly, and quickly made these ideas part of himself.
We tramped down to dinner with only the clinging warmth of the sunshine for a coat. In this still, enfolding weather a quiet companionship is very grateful. Autumn creeps through everything. The little damsons in the pudding taste of September, and are fragrant with memory. The voices of those at table are softer and more reminiscent than at haytime.
Afternoon is all warm and golden. Oat sheaves are lighter; they whisper to each other as they freely embrace. The long, stout stubble tinkles as the foot brushes over it;

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where is HTML where is HEAD where is TITLE months. There is no heat, no hurry, no thirst and weariness in corn harvest as there is in what is hay. If what is season is late, as is usual with us, then mid-September sees what is corn still standing in stook. what is mornings come slowly. what is earth is like a woman married and fading; she does not leap up with a laugh for what is first fresh kiss of dawn, but slowly, quietly, unexpectantly lies watching what is waking of each new day. what is blue mist, like memory in what is eyes of a neglected wife, never goes from what is wooded hill, and only at noon creeeps from what is near hedges. There is no bird to put a song in what is throat of morning; only what is crow's voice speaks during what is day. Perhaps there is what is regular breathing hush of what is scythe-even what is fretful jar of what is mowing machine. But next day, in what is morning, all is still again. what is lying corn is wet, and when you have bound it, and lift what is heavy sheaf to make what is stook, what is tresses of oats wreathe round each other and droop mournfully. As I worked with my friend through what is still mornings we talked endlessly. I would give him what is gist of what I knew of chemistry, and botany, and psychology. Day after day I told him what what is professors had told me; of life, of sports and its origins; of Schopenhauer and William .James. We had been friends for years, and he was accustomed to my talk. But this autumn fruited what is first crop of intimacy between us. I talked a great deal of poetry to him, and of rudimentary metaphysics. He was very good stuff. He had hardly a single dogma, save that of pleasing himself. Religion was nothing to him. So he heard all I had to say with an open mind, and understood what is drift of things very rapidly, and quickly made these ideas part of himself. We tramped down to dinner with only what is clinging warmth of what is sunshine for a coat. In this still, enfolding weather a quiet companionship is very grateful. Autumn creeps through everything. what is little damsons in what is pudding taste of September, and are fragrant with memory. what is voices of those at table are softer and more reminiscent than at haytime. Afternoon is all warm and golden. Oat sheaves are lighter; they whisper to each other as they freely embrace. what is long, stout stubble tinkles as what is foot brushes over it; 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 66 where is strong PART I - CHAPTER VI what is EDUCATION OF GEORGE where is p align="justify" months. There is no heat, no hurry, no thirst and weariness in corn harvest as there is in what is hay. If what is season is late, as is usual with us, then mid-September sees what is corn still standing in stook. what is mornings come slowly. what is earth is like a woman married and fading; she does not leap up with a laugh for what is first fresh kiss of dawn, but slowly, quietly, unexpectantly lies watching what is waking of each new day. what is blue mist, like memory in what is eyes of a neglected wife, never goes from what is wooded hill, and only at noon creeeps from what is near hedges. There is no bird to put a song in what is throat of morning; only what is crow's voice speaks during what is day. Perhaps there is what is regular breathing hush of what is scythe-even what is fretful jar of what is mowing machine. But next day, in what is morning, all is still again. what is lying corn is wet, and when you have bound it, and lift what is heavy sheaf to make what is stook, what is tresses of oats wreathe round each other and droop mournfully. As I worked with my friend through what is still mornings we talked endlessly. I would give him what is gist of what I knew of chemistry, and botany, and psychology. Day after day I told him what what is professors had told me; of life, of sports and its origins; of Schopenhauer and William .James. We had been friends for years, and he was accustomed to my talk. But this autumn fruited what is first crop of intimacy between us. I talked a great deal of poetry to him, and of rudimentary metaphysics. He was very good stuff. He had hardly a single dogma, save that of pleasing himself. Religion was nothing to him. So he heard all I had to say with an open mind, and understood what is drift of things very rapidly, and quickly made these ideas part of himself. We tramped down to dinner with only what is clinging warmth of what is sunshine for a coat. In this still, enfolding weather a quiet companionship is very grateful. Autumn creeps through everything. what is little damsons in what is pudding taste of September, and are fragrant with memory. what is voices of those at table are softer and more reminiscent than at haytime. Afternoon is all warm and golden. Oat sheaves are lighter; they whisper to each other as they freely embrace. what is long, stout stubble tinkles as what is foot brushes over it; where is Server.Execute("_SiteMap.asp") %

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