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Lawrence, D. H. (David Herbert), 1885-1930

"England, My England"

I admired them, they were curious. Then a
gust of wind caught them, heeled them over as if they were three frail
boats opening their feathers like ragged sails. They hopped and skipped
with discomfort, to get out of the draught of the wind. And then, in the
lee of the walls, they resumed their arch, wintry motion, light and
unballasted now their tails were gone, indifferent. They were indifferent
to my presence. I might have touched them. They turned off to the shelter
of an open shed.
As I passed the end of the upper house, I saw a young woman just coming
out of the back door. I had spoken to her in the summer. She recognized
me at once, and waved to me. She was carrying a pail, wearing a white
apron that was longer than her preposterously short skirt, and she had on
the cotton bonnet. I took off my hat to her and was going on. But she put
down her pail and darted with a swift, furtive movement after me.
'Do you mind waiting a minute?' she said. 'I'll be out in a minute.'
She gave me a slight, odd smile, and ran back. Her face was long and
sallow and her nose rather red. But her gloomy black eyes softened
caressively to me for a moment, with that momentary humility which makes
a man lord of the earth.
I stood in the road, looking at the fluffy, dark-red young cattle that
mooed and seemed to bark at me. They seemed happy, frisky cattle, a
little impudent, and either determined to go back into the warm shed, or
determined not to go back, I could not decide which.


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