. The book of months . streets, the smell of dust laid, or, rather, thesmell which the air has when there is no longerany dust in it. Also the vividness of color sur-prised me, and in the yet leafless trees there wasa certain vigorous look which I had missed allwinter, a crispness of outline, a look of tension,as in an instantaneous photograph of a manabout to leap. A thrush babbled suddenly in abush by the road-side, and, fool that I was, Idid not know what was happening. I thoughtit was only a thrush singing. But had I known,it was spring. That night after dinner, instead of sittingdown to b
. The book of months . streets, the smell of dust laid, or, rather, thesmell which the air has when there is no longerany dust in it. Also the vividness of color sur-prised me, and in the yet leafless trees there wasa certain vigorous look which I had missed allwinter, a crispness of outline, a look of tension,as in an instantaneous photograph of a manabout to leap. A thrush babbled suddenly in abush by the road-side, and, fool that I was, Idid not know what was happening. I thoughtit was only a thrush singing. But had I known,it was spring. That night after dinner, instead of sittingdown to bridge or some gray pursuit classifiedby the title of game, eight sober and maturepeople did the silliest things. We played blind-mans-buff ; we cock-fought on the hearth-rug;we fell heavily to the ground in attempting totake out pins with our teeth, pins placed in in-accessible positions as the legs of chairs; nobodycared what anybody else was doing. Every one41 p/\ 4r ^1 3s. -.^. t -fe? \ ^J-^
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1900, bookidcu3192401358, bookyear1903
