Such Darling Dodos, and Other Stories

Such Darling Dodos, and Other Stories

Such Darling Dodos, and Other Stories

Such Darling Dodos, and Other Stories

Excerpt

THE WINTER SUN POURED IN THROUGH THE LONG FRENCH windows of the dining-room. Flames shot up from the burning logs in the hall. In the morning room the coals glowed brightly. But neither sun nor burning wood nor glowing coals could make the house less desolate. Sometimes it seemed that there were too many windows, too much bleak light; at others the house seemed perpetually sombre and dark. But always it was desolate and, above all, expectant. For years now there had been this sense of impending tragedy; the occupants were like passengers in a railway waiting room, idly chattering and frittering away the time. How could they do or say anything positive, for though the crash might be delayed, it would inevitably arrive? To Rex Palmer and his wife, the house was their beloved home and what they feared was disaster, bankruptcy, ruin; but to the family dependants, it was a prison against which they chafed, and to which they yet clung for fear of being turned adrift, of having to fend for themselves. They were like parasites washed up by the tide, hanging like limpets to the rock, hating and loathing it, yet waxing fat upon it, devitalizing the air they breathed.

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