Lost trumpet
(213)
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THE LOST TRUMPET 213
“Perhaps it is these very walls that the Trumpet
would overthrow! . . . People, it’s too late to go
back to your camp. You must stay to dinner, all
three of you. Like to come down and see mv
garden ?”
Subchapter iv
We had lost the others—Marrot and Huebsch
among the moonlight of the cypresses, intent on
both seeing and hearing a nightingale; Aslaug and
Quaritch abandoned in a ma2e and some argument
by the far desert hedgings. Now, under the lee of
Gault’s house, Pelagueya and I stood in the midst of
the rose garden.
Revived by the night, they poured forth their
smell. Like the darkness, it was a soft and kindly
smell. Pelagueya bent her head towards a dim
cluster, and closed her eyes, and felt against her cheek
the soft, shy curl of petals.
“Smell, Anton.”
The scent came up into our faces, our nostrils.
Pelagueya stood utterly quiet. Then as she stood
erect one of the roses broke and showered her with
petals. I could see them upon her, her face and neck,
ghostly sprinklings. She gave a little wriggle and
a strange, sweet laugh.
“Affectionate thing.”
“What is ?” I asked.
One of the rose petals had slipped into the bosom
of her dress
“Perhaps it is these very walls that the Trumpet
would overthrow! . . . People, it’s too late to go
back to your camp. You must stay to dinner, all
three of you. Like to come down and see mv
garden ?”
Subchapter iv
We had lost the others—Marrot and Huebsch
among the moonlight of the cypresses, intent on
both seeing and hearing a nightingale; Aslaug and
Quaritch abandoned in a ma2e and some argument
by the far desert hedgings. Now, under the lee of
Gault’s house, Pelagueya and I stood in the midst of
the rose garden.
Revived by the night, they poured forth their
smell. Like the darkness, it was a soft and kindly
smell. Pelagueya bent her head towards a dim
cluster, and closed her eyes, and felt against her cheek
the soft, shy curl of petals.
“Smell, Anton.”
The scent came up into our faces, our nostrils.
Pelagueya stood utterly quiet. Then as she stood
erect one of the roses broke and showered her with
petals. I could see them upon her, her face and neck,
ghostly sprinklings. She gave a little wriggle and
a strange, sweet laugh.
“Affectionate thing.”
“What is ?” I asked.
One of the rose petals had slipped into the bosom
of her dress
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| The books of Lewis Grassic Gibbon > Lost trumpet > (213) |
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| Permanent URL | https://digital.nls.uk/205192246 |
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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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