Lost trumpet
(77)
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CHAPTER THE SIXTH
T knew that voice. I had half-expected to hear it,
yet disbelieved I would ever hear it again.’
Subchapter i
THEY shone steadily, no chance glimmer from
the lamp of a raiding burglar, as the labourer
and I stumbled along the roadway in the dusk.
Drawing near, we saw the light streaming from
below a door in the courtyard. We crossed to that
door and I beat on it until we heard the sound of
approaching footsteps along a stone-flagged passage.
They were quick, light footsteps. A voice said in
French : “Who is it ?”
I knew that voice. I had half-expected to hear it,
yet disbelieved I would ever hear it again. I leant
against the wall and the labourer, bemused, stared
at me and clinked the handles of the buckets. The
question was repeated, impatiently, and then the
door opened.
So, after nine months, I saw Pelagueya again, in
silhouette, backgrounded by the light of the corridor,
tall and slight, with burnished, blue-black hair and
her face in shadow ; and, as ever, her gown seeming
to drape in over-affectionate admiration the lines of
beauty of her long, swift body. A scent of lilac came
77
T knew that voice. I had half-expected to hear it,
yet disbelieved I would ever hear it again.’
Subchapter i
THEY shone steadily, no chance glimmer from
the lamp of a raiding burglar, as the labourer
and I stumbled along the roadway in the dusk.
Drawing near, we saw the light streaming from
below a door in the courtyard. We crossed to that
door and I beat on it until we heard the sound of
approaching footsteps along a stone-flagged passage.
They were quick, light footsteps. A voice said in
French : “Who is it ?”
I knew that voice. I had half-expected to hear it,
yet disbelieved I would ever hear it again. I leant
against the wall and the labourer, bemused, stared
at me and clinked the handles of the buckets. The
question was repeated, impatiently, and then the
door opened.
So, after nine months, I saw Pelagueya again, in
silhouette, backgrounded by the light of the corridor,
tall and slight, with burnished, blue-black hair and
her face in shadow ; and, as ever, her gown seeming
to drape in over-affectionate admiration the lines of
beauty of her long, swift body. A scent of lilac came
77
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| The books of Lewis Grassic Gibbon > Lost trumpet > (77) |
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| Permanent URL | https://digital.nls.uk/205190478 |
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| Description | J. Leslie Mitchell. |
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| Shelfmark | Vts.143.j.8 |
| Attribution and copyright: |
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More information
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| Description | Sixteen books written by Lewis Grassic Gibbon (1901-1935), regarded as the most important Scottish prose writer of the early 20th century. All were published in the last seven years of his life, mostly under his real name, James Leslie Mitchell. They include two works of science fiction, non-fiction works on exploration, short stories set in Egypt, a novel about Spartacus, and the classic 'Scots Quair' trilogy which includes 'Sunset Song'. Mitchell's first book 'Hanno, or the future of exploration' (1928) is rare and has never been republished. |
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