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Page 21:-
changed,Mr. Goodchild, through having no change of outer garments but broadcloth and velvet, suddenly became a magnificent portent in the Innkeeper's house, a shining frontispiece to the fashions for the month, and a frightful anomaly in the Cumberland village. |
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to Wigton
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Greatly ashamed of his splendid appearance, the conscious
Goodchild quenched it as much as possible, in the shadow of
Thomas Idle's ankle, and in a corner of the little covered
carriage that started with them for Wigton - a most
desirable carriage for any country, except for its having a
flat roof and no sides; which caused the plumps of rain
accumulating on the roof to play vigourous games of
bagatelle into the interior all the way, and to score
immensely. It was comfortable to see how the people coming
back in open carts from Wigton market made no more of the
rain than if it were sunshine; how the Wigton policeman
taking a country walk of half-a-dozen miles (apparently for
pleasure), in resplendent uniform, accepted saturation as
his normal state; how clerks and schoolmasters in black,
loitered along the roads without umbrellas, getting
varnished at every step; how the Cumberland girls, coming
out to look after the Cumberland cows, shook the rain from
their eyelashes and laughed it away; and how the rain
continued to fall upon all, as it only does fall in hill
countries.
Wigton market was over, and its bare booths were smoking with rain all down the street. Mr. Thomas Idle, melodramatically carried to the inn's first floor, and laid upon three chairs (he should have had the sofa, if there had been one), Mr. Goodchild went to the window to take an observation of Wigton, and report what he saw to his disabled companion. "Brother Francis, brother Francis," cried Thomas Idle, "What do you see from the turret?" "I see," said Brother Francis, "what I hope and believe to be one of the most dismal places ever seen by eyes. I see the houses with their roofs of dull black, their stained fronts, and their dark-rimmed windows, looking as if they were all in mourning. As every little puff of wind comes down the street, I see a perfect train of rain let off along the wooden stalls in the market-place and exploded against me. I see a very big gas lamp in the centre of which I know, by a secret instinct, will not be lighted tonight. I see a pump, with a trivet underneath its |
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