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The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Country House, by John Galsworthy This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: The Country House Author: John Galsworthy Release Date: June 14, 2006 [EBook #2772] Language: English Character set encoding: ASCII *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COUNTRY HOUSE *** Produced by David Widger THE COUNTRY HOUSE By John Galsworthy CHAPTER I A PARTY AT WORSTED SKEYNES The year was 1891, the month October, the day Monday. In the dark outside the railway-station at Worsted Skeynes Mr. Horace Pendyce's omnibus, his brougham, his luggage-cart, monopolised space. The face of Mr. Horace Pendyce's coachman monopolised the light of the solitary station lantern. Rosy-gilled, with fat close-clipped grey whiskers and inscrutably pursed lips, it presided high up in the easterly air like an emblem of the feudal system. On the platform within, Mr. Horace Pendyce's first footman and second groom in long livery coats with silver buttons, their appearance slightly relieved by the rakish cock of their top-hats, awaited the arrival of the 6.15. The first footman took from his pocket a half-sheet of stamped and crested notepaper covered with Mr. Horace Pendyce's small and precise calligraphy. He read from it in a nasal, derisive voice: "Hon. Geoff, and Mrs. Winlow, blue room and dress; maid, small drab. Mr. George, white room. Mrs. Jaspar Bellew, gold. The Captain, red. General Pendyce, pink room; valet, back attic. That's the lot." The groom, a red-cheeked youth, paid no attention. "If this here Ambler of Mr. George's wins on Wednesday," he said, "it's as good as five pounds in my pocket. Who does for Mr. George?" "James, of course." The groom whistled. "I'll try an' get his loadin' to-morrow. Are you on, Tom?" The footman answered: "Here's another over the page. Green room, right wing--that Foxleigh; he's no good. 'Take all you can and give nothing' sort! But can't he shoot just! That's why they ask him!" From behind a screen of dark trees the train ran in. Down the platform came the first passengers--two cattlemen with long sticks, slouching by in their frieze coats, diffusing an odour of beast and black tobacco; th
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