Lost trumpet
(267)
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THE LOST TRUMPET 267
chair and regarding his colleague closely. Aslaug
Simonssen, a strayed daughter of the vikings, stared
at the Jew with her lips a little apart. It was Marrot
who broke the silence.
“Problem: What is the difference between a
white elephant and a Lost Trumpet found ? What
are you going to do with the thing, Huebsch ?”
“Well, well, read the inscription, I guess, so
soon as I can see it through this coating of grime.’,
Marrot was at his side in a moment. “Inscription ?
H’m. So there is.”
The window circle collected all of us, except
Quaritch, who still sat and rubbed his ears. Looking
through the window I saw the day very close by
then, and the cypress boughs waving in the coming
of the morning wind. Pelagueya’s shoulder touched
mine and I glanced down at her face, sweet and
eager as her body. ... It was pity Rodin had died
v/ithout knowing Pelagueya. ‘Eternal Spring¬
time’—she would have made a fine woman counter¬
part of that. . . . Huebsch was muttering to himself.
“Not much of it. And plain enough.”
Pelagueya shook his arm. “Then do read it.”
“Eh ? Sure. Something like this, Princess :
The Trumpet of God's Man."
Subchapter iv
The electric light had grown pallid, almost green.
Now that zone of daylight widened ever more
quickly in the sky. And I saw the roofs of Abu Zabal
chair and regarding his colleague closely. Aslaug
Simonssen, a strayed daughter of the vikings, stared
at the Jew with her lips a little apart. It was Marrot
who broke the silence.
“Problem: What is the difference between a
white elephant and a Lost Trumpet found ? What
are you going to do with the thing, Huebsch ?”
“Well, well, read the inscription, I guess, so
soon as I can see it through this coating of grime.’,
Marrot was at his side in a moment. “Inscription ?
H’m. So there is.”
The window circle collected all of us, except
Quaritch, who still sat and rubbed his ears. Looking
through the window I saw the day very close by
then, and the cypress boughs waving in the coming
of the morning wind. Pelagueya’s shoulder touched
mine and I glanced down at her face, sweet and
eager as her body. ... It was pity Rodin had died
v/ithout knowing Pelagueya. ‘Eternal Spring¬
time’—she would have made a fine woman counter¬
part of that. . . . Huebsch was muttering to himself.
“Not much of it. And plain enough.”
Pelagueya shook his arm. “Then do read it.”
“Eh ? Sure. Something like this, Princess :
The Trumpet of God's Man."
Subchapter iv
The electric light had grown pallid, almost green.
Now that zone of daylight widened ever more
quickly in the sky. And I saw the roofs of Abu Zabal
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| The books of Lewis Grassic Gibbon > Lost trumpet > (267) |
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| Permanent URL | https://digital.nls.uk/205192948 |
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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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