Home » Pilgrims Inn (The Eliots of Damerosehay #2) by Elizabeth Goudge
Pilgrims Inn (The Eliots of Damerosehay #2) Elizabeth Goudge

Pilgrims Inn (The Eliots of Damerosehay #2)

Elizabeth Goudge

Published
ISBN : 9781619700734
Paperback
335 pages
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 About the Book 

PILGRIMS INN PILGRIMS INN Elizabeth Qoudge PILGRIMS AW The HERB of GRACE Coward -, Tor A C. J FOR VERONICA Theres rue for you and heres some for me we may call it herb of grace o 3 Sundays. O you must wear your rue with a difference. Hamlet PILGRIMSMorePILGRIMS INN PILGRIMS INN Elizabeth Qoudge PILGRIMS AW The HERB of GRACE Coward -, Tor A C. J FOR VERONICA Theres rue for you and heres some for me we may call it herb of grace o 3 Sundays. O you must wear your rue with a difference. Hamlet PILGRIMS INN Chapter I T. E sun . shining through the uncurtained east win dow woke Sally to a new day. It spread a long cloak of gold over her body as it lay upon the bed and the loving warmth reached through to the very soul of her 5 she woke up smiling, stirred a little, rubbed her knuckles childishly in her eyes, then stretched out her long body beneath the cloak of gold and lay still again, happy and completely unafraid. She always woke up happy, because she had been born happy and didnt seem able to help it. And she was not afraid because nothing had yet happened to her to make her afraid, and in body, mind, and spirit she was equally healthy and well balanced and saw those things that hadnt happened yet in their true proportions. But the thrill of tranquil happiness with which she awoke was fol lowed always by a slight sensation of guilt. Other people were not born happy. Other people were afraid. Her immunity seemed very wrong and she was ashamed of it. Im sorry, Im sorry, she whispered now, and she spoke to all those people who hadnt her transcendent luck. Her arms, lying stretched out beside her, moved a little. She would, if she could, have taken them all into her arms and rocked them as a mother her child. But it couldnt be done, and knowing it couldnt she suddenly abandoned herself to joy like a bird to the wind, leaped from bed, her tall body in its yellow pajamas like a sword of gold in the sun, flashed into the adjoining bathroom, banged the door, stripped, sprang into the bath, turned on the shower, and broke into loud uproarious song. Her father had gone away yesterday to spend a night at Winchester and then two nights at Bournemouth visiting Im portant Personages who wanted their portraits painted, and she was alone in the flat for two days. She wholeheartedly loved her 3 father, but he was quite extraordinarily untidy, and she enjoyed a few days on her own getting the flat straight, for she had an innate love of order that made its production from chaos one of the chief joys of her existence. The fact that everything would become immediately disordered again upon his return did not worry her. She took things as they came and knew that every thing must be paid for her fathers presence by cigarette ash on the carpet, and order by possessing nothing of him but his old coat hanging behind the door. She would miss him today, but she would be gloriously tidy. And she liked being alone sometimes j one discovered things. And of course she wasnt really alone, for Mrs. Rutherford in the flat above kept an eye on her, as she was reminded by a faint remonstrance of tapping on the floor overhead. She re membered suddenly that Mrs. Rutherfords bedroom was just above and that she made a good deal of noise when she let her self go in the early mornings, switched her glorious contralto from Gloria in Excelsis Deo to a Negro spiritual, and turned off the shower. Back in her bedroom she remembered that Mr. Rutherford, this time, was just above, and suffered from headaches, and she tried to shut her drawers very quietly and not to fall over any thing. For though she was orderly she was also a bit clumsy. She was twenty-one yearsold but she had not yet outgrown the coltlike stage. Like all only children she was in some ways too old for her age and in other ways too young 5 she still fell over material things as though she were fifteen, but immaterial things, such as friendships, the griefs of little children, the de sires of men and the jealousies of women, she handled with an instinctive sensitiveness that a woman of thirty-five could not have bettered. There were those who thought Sally Adair beautiful and those who thought her the reverse...