More rice was thrown, and the carmoved off. They
worried him, they mauled him with their greatyellow teeth.
Large pieces of furniture jutted out at oddangles
and she found herself knocking against them.
Behold Oliver, he would say, addressing himself.
The Duchess opened her heart, her private heart, gaped wide. To-day, said Ernest,
twitching his nose as he bit the end off hiscigar, he chased a hare. They were all
shapely, shining; cut from the best cloth by the bestscissors in Savile Row. Then
Wing lifted the tail of the cart and drove in the pinswhich secured it.
As the dinner wore on, however, the room grew
steamy with heat.
The mahogany sideboard bulged discreetlywith the
right brandies, whiskeys and liqueurs.
The shield of the Rashleighs crashed from the
wall.
Tufts ofwhite smoke held together for a moment;
then gently solved themselves,faded, and dispersed.
The wind lashed the panes of glass; shots volleyed
in the Park and atree fell. The dish with the silver cover was placedprecisely there
where he pointed. Coming closer, said Miss Rashleigh, listening.
The light fromreflectors at the back of the shop
struck upwards. It was onlyErnest, turning his key in the door.
There he stood, tall, handsome, rubbing hishands
that were red with cold. Was itpossible that he was really Ernest; and that she was
really married toErnest?
He felt that these people whomhe despised made him
stand and deliver and justify himself. Bunny was someone plump and soft and comic;
he was thin andhard and serious. She drew her knife down the other side of the
breast. Then there entered, slouching, the Squire himself inshabby gaiters. And
Oliver, rising, could hear the rustle of the dress of the Duchess asshe came down
the passage.
Miss Antonia and Miss Rashleigh rose to their feet.
And their hands gripped their handslike the claws of dead birds gripping nothing.
Noone guessed that there was such a place, and that of course made it allthe more
amusing. He held them under his lens to the light. She looked at her father-in-law,
a furtivelittle man with dyed moustaches.
Then the Squire, with the hang-dog stained face, in
the shabby gaiters,cursed and raised his gun. A whiteshawl, diamond fastened,
clouded her baldness.
He paused; struck a match, and twitchedagain.
Dalloway was married, gave parties; wasnt his sort at all. So, said Oliver Bacon,
rising and stretching his legs.
But was it real or false, the one he held in his
hand? There were the wood in which they livedand the outlying prairies and the
swamp. Deftly the footman whippedit from her, and old Miss Rashleigh raised her
knife.
Then again up shot the rockets, thereddish purple
pheasants.