Here and there stood
a solitary she-oak, most doleful of trees, its scraggy, pine-needle
foliage bleached to grey. From the several little stations along the
line: mere three-sided sheds, which bore a printed invitation to
intending passengers to wave a flag or light a lamp, did they wish to
board the train: from these shelters long, bare, red roads, straight as
ruled lines, ran back into the heart of the burnt-up, faded country. Now
and then a moving ruddy cloud on one of them told of some vehicle
crawling its laborious way.
When John, his memoranda digested, looked up ready to resume their talk,
he found that Mahony was fast asleep; and, since his first words, loudly
uttered, did not rouse him, he took out his case, chose a cigar,
beheaded it and puffed it alight.
While he smoked, he studied his insensible relative. Mahony was sitting
uncomfortably hunched up; his head had fallen forward and to the side,
his mouth was open, his gloved hands lay limp on his knee.
"H'm!" said John to himself as he gazed. And: "H'm," he repeated after
an interval.--Then pulling down his waistcoat and generally giving
himself a shake to rights, he reflected that, for his own two-and-forty
years, he was a very well preserved man indeed.
Chapter VI
"Oh, Richard!. . . and my dress is blue," said Mary distractedly, and
sitting back on her heels let her arms fall to her sides. She was on her
knees, and before her lay a cardboard box from which she had withdrawn a
pink fan, pink satin boots with stockings to match, and a pink head-dress.
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