. Our village. ^/toCctmCf. ^-7^— It is a dull gray morning, witha dewy feeling in the air ; fresh, butnot windy; cool, but not cold;—thever)-day for a person newly arrived from theheat, the glare, the noise, and the feverof London, to plunge into the remotest hibyrinths of thecountry, and regain the repose of mind, the calmness ofheart, which has been lost in that great Babel. I mustgo violeting—it is a necessity—and I must go alone :the sound of a voice, even my Lizzys, the touch ofMayflowers head, even the bounding of her elastic foot,would disturb the serenity of feeling which T am tr)ingto
. Our village. ^/toCctmCf. ^-7^— It is a dull gray morning, witha dewy feeling in the air ; fresh, butnot windy; cool, but not cold;—thever)-day for a person newly arrived from theheat, the glare, the noise, and the feverof London, to plunge into the remotest hibyrinths of thecountry, and regain the repose of mind, the calmness ofheart, which has been lost in that great Babel. I mustgo violeting—it is a necessity—and I must go alone :the sound of a voice, even my Lizzys, the touch ofMayflowers head, even the bounding of her elastic foot,would disturb the serenity of feeling which T am tr)ingto recover. I shall go quite alone, with my littlebasket, twisted like a bee-hive, which I love so well,because she gave it to mc, and kept sacred to violetsand to those whom I love ; and I shall get out of thehigh-road the moment I can. I would not meet an}-one just now, even of those whom I best like to !—Is not that group—-a gentleman on a blood- f>o OUR VILLAGE horse, a lad\- keeping pace with him s
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Keywords: ., bookauthorritchieannethackeray1, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1890
