"That's a parable of the
general situation in England. And look at those brutes!" A huge
household removals van was halted at a public-house. The men in
charge were drinking beer from blue and white mugs. It seemed to
me a pretty sight, but Penfentenyou said it represented Our
National Attitude.
Lord Lundie's summer resting-place we learned was a farm, a
little out of the village, up a hill round which curled a high
hedged road. Only an initiated few spend their holidays at
Credence Green, and they have trained the householders to keep
the place select. Penfentenyou made a grievance of this as we
walked up the lane, followed at a distance by the organ-grinder.
"Suppose he is having a house-party," he said: "Anything's
possible in this insane land."
Just at that minute we found ourselves opposite an empty villa.
Its roof was of black slate, with bright unweathered
ridge-tiling; its walls were of blood-coloured brick, cornered
and banded with vermiculated stucco work, and there was cobalt,
magenta, and purest apple-green window-glass on either side of
the front door.
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