Of Human Bondage (1915) - W. Somerset Maugham [335]
"I expect you'll be ready for your bed," said Mrs. Athelny to Philip. "You're not used to getting up at five and staying in the open air all day."
"You're coming to bathe with us, Uncle Phil, aren't you?" the boys cried.
"Rather."
He was tired and happy. After supper, balancing himself against the wall of the hut on a chair without a back, he smoked his pipe and looked at the night. Sally was busy. She passed in and out of the hut, and he lazily watched her methodical actions. Her walk attracted his notice; it was not particularly graceful, but it was easy and assured; she swung her legs from the hips, and her feet seemed to tread the earth with decision. Athelny had gone off to gossip with one of the neighbours, and presently Philip heard his wife address the world in general.
"There now, I'm out of tea and I wanted Athelny to go down to Mrs. Black's and get some." A pause, and then her voice was raised: "Sally, just run down to Mrs. Black's and get me half a pound of tea, will you? I've run quite out of it."
"All right, mother."
Mrs. Black had a cottage about half a mile along the road, and she combined the office of postmistress with that of universal provider. Sally came out of the hut, turning down her sleeves.
"Shall I come with you, Sally?" asked Philip.
"Don't you trouble. I'm not afraid to go alone."
"I didn't think you were; but it's getting near my bedtime, and I was just thinking I'd like to stretch my legs."
Sally did not answer, and they set out together. The road was white and silent. There was not a sound in the summer night. They did not speak much.
"It's quite hot even now, isn't it?" said Philip.
"I think it's wonderful for the time of year."
But their silence did not seem awkward. They found it was pleasant to walk side by side and felt no need of words. Suddenly at a stile in the hedgerow they heard a low murmur of voices, and in the darkness they saw the outline of two people. They were sitting very close to one another and did not move as Philip and Sally passed.
"I wonder who that was," said Sally.
"They looked happy enough, didn't they?"
"I expect they took us for lovers too."
They saw the light of the cottage in front of them, and in a minute went into the little shop. The glare dazzled them for a moment.
"You are late," said Mrs. Black. "I was just going to shut up." She looked at the clock. "Getting on for nine."
Sally asked for her half pound of tea (Mrs. Athelny could never bring herself to buy more than half a pound at a time), and they set off up the road again. Now and then some beast of the night made a short, sharp sound, but it seemed only to make the silence more marked.
"I believe if you stood still you could hear the sea," said Sally.
They strained their ears, and their fancy presented them with a faint sound of little waves lapping up against the shingle. When they passed the stile again the lovers were still there, but now they were not speaking; they were in one another's arms, and the man's lips were pressed against the girl's.
"They seem busy," said Sally.
They turned a corner, and a breath of warm wind beat for a moment against their faces. The earth gave forth its freshness. There was something strange in the tremulous night, and something, you knew not what, seemed to be waiting; the silence was on a sudden pregnant with meaning. Philip had a queer feeling in his heart, it seemed very full, it seemed to melt (the hackneyed phrases expressed precisely the curious sensation), he felt happy and anxious and expectant. To his memory came back those lines in which Jessica and Lorenzo murmur melodious