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Walpole, Hugh, Sir, 1884-1941

"The Golden Scarecrow"

He was now so conscious
of his company that the knowledge of it could not be avoided. It seemed
to him that he heard them chattering together, knew that behind his
back Sarah was trying to whisper horrid things in Bim's ear, and that he
was laughing at her, which made her furious.
"I must have eaten something," he thought. "It's the strangest feeling
I've ever had. I just won't take any notice of them. I'll go on as
though they weren't there." But the strangest thing of all was that he
felt as though he himself were being taken. He had the most comfortable
feeling that there was no need for him to give any thought or any kind
of trouble. "You just leave it all to me," some one said to him. "I've
made all the arrangements."
The lane was hot, and the midday winter sun covered the paths with pools
and splashes of colour. He came out on to the common and saw the
village, the long straggling street with the white-washed cottages and
the hideous grey-slate roofs; the church tower, rising out of the elms,
and the pond, running to the common's edge, its water chequered with the
reflection of the white clouds above it.


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