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    Two in a Train

    Page 48
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    “Do you want to pick them?”

      “O, no!”

      “Or write a nice little poem about them?”

      “No.”

      “How refreshing! Isn’t it rather revolting putting beauty into a sausage machine and turning out words, popular pulp? Yes, the word-game can become rather loathsome.”

      She looked up at the mountains.

      “One asks—only to sit and stare. But then—one has to sell things—to live.”

      “Need one?”

      “I have to.”

      “Not necessarily. Hallo, there’s the steamer. Always makes me think of ‘The White Horse Inn.’ Yes, I saw it when I was in London last year. It amused me. What about lunch?”

      “I’m ready, disgracefully ready.”

      “That’s splendid. You’re capable of a comfortable greed?”

      “I’m afraid so.”

      “Same here. Nothing like being a couple of gross kids.”

      She reproved him.

      “Not quite gross.”

      “Well, like a couple of birds.”

      After their lunch—and it was a very good lunch—they went and sat by the lake, and he smoked a pipe.

      He said, “In the winter—it’s almost as marvellous up here. Down there—I feed the birds, hundreds of birds. You should see their footmarks in the snow. I have one chaffinch who comes and sits on the foot of my bed and cheeks me till I get up. Last year I had a blackbird with a white cap on his head. I can’t say that I pine for Piccadilly.”

      She said, “Don’t be cruel. I have to go back to a shabby little corner in Camden Town.”

      “Am I cruel? You know, Mallison is supposed to be a merciless beast.”

      “Who feeds the birds.”

      She was silent for a while, and he watched her face.

      “Ten thousand pounds, my dear!”

      She turned quickly.

      “Or a penny?”

      “Tell.”

      “I was thinking that I have just two more days.”

      “Nonsense. You can’t be more than thirty-three. Supposing you were to live to seventy. Thirty-seven more years. I’m fifty-three. That gives me, say, seventeen. Stay and feed the birds.”

      She understood. His hand rested upon her shoulder.

      “Nothing else?”

      “Well—Mallison the egoist ought to say something. The selfish devil needs a good wife. Stay. Chuck your return ticket into the Inn. My dear—I’m not a bad sort of brute.”

      “I’ll stay.”

      FINIS

        Books by

      WARWICK DEEPING

      The Man on the While Horse

      Seven Men Came Back

      Two Black Sheep

      Smith

      Old Wine and New

      The Road

      Short Stories

      Exiles

      Roper’s Row

      Old Pybus

      Kitty

      Doomsday

      Sorrell and Son

      Suvla John

      Three Rooms

      The Secret Sanctuary

      Orchards

      Lantern Lane

      Second Youth

      Countess Glika

      Unrest

      The Pride of Eve

      The King Behind the King

      The House of Spies

      Sincerity

      Fox Farm

      Bess of the Woods

      The Red Saint

      The Slanderers

      The Return of the Petticoat

      A Woman’s War

      Valour

      Bertrand of Brittany

      Uther and Igraine

      The House of Adventure

      The Prophetic Marriage

      Apples of Gold

      The Lame Englishman

      Marriage by Conquest

      Joan of the Tower

      Martin Valliant

      The Rust of Rome

      The White Gate

      The Seven Streams

      Mad Barbara

      Love Among the Ruins

      THE END

      TRANSCRIBER NOTES

      Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. Where multiple spellings occur, majority use has been employed.

      Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious printer errors occur.

      A cover has been created for this book. The resulting cover is placed in the public domain.

      [The end of Two in a Train and Other Stories by Warwick Deeping]

     

     

     



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