As spruce as could be, in a black coat and a
belltopper. He's married again, he told me, and has one of the
best-paying hotels in Smythesdale. Yes, and he was at the sale, too--he
came over specially for it--to buy the piano."
"He did, confound him!" cried Mahony hotly.
"Oh, you can't look at it that way, Richard. As long as he has the money
to pay for it. Fancy, he told me had always admired the 'tune' of it so
much, when I played and sang. My dear little piano!"
"You shall have another and a better one, I promise you, old girl--
don't fret. Well, that slice of our life's over and done with," he
added, and laid his hand on hers. "But we'll hold together, won't we,
wife, whatever happens?"
They had passed Black Hill and its multicoloured clay and gravel heaps,
and the train was puffing uphill. The last scattered huts and
weatherboards fell behind, the worked-out holes grew fewer, wooded rises
appeared. Gradually, too, the white roads round Mount Buninyong came
into view, and the trees became denser. And having climbed the shoulder,
they began to fly smoothly and rapidly down the other side.
Mahony bent forward in his seat. "There goes the last of old Warrenheip.
Thank the Lord, I shall never set eyes on it again. Upon my word, I
believe I came to think that hill the most tiresome feature of the
place. Whatever street one turned into, up it bobbed at the foot. Like a
peep-show . . . or a bad dream . . . or a prison wall.
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