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Burnett, Frances Hodgson, 1849-1924

"The Head of the House of Coombe"

The conclusion is obvious to banality--but as
suggestive as banal--so suggestive in fact that the hyper-sensitive
and too imaginative had better, for their own comfort's sake, leave
the matter alone. In most cases the existing conditions would not be
altered even if one knocked at the door and insisted on entering
with drawn sword in the form of attendant policeman The outside
of the slice of a house in which Feather lived was still rather
fresh from its last decorative touching up. It had been painted
cream colour and had white and windows and green window boxes
with variegated vinca vines trailing from them and pink geraniums,
dark blue lobelia and ferns filling the earth stuffed in by the
florist who provided such adornments. Passers-by frequently
glanced at it and thought it a nice little house whose amusing
diminutiveness was a sort of attraction. It was rather like a new
doll's house.
No one glancing at it in passing at the closing of this particular
day had reason to suspect that any unaccustomed event was taking
place behind the cream-coloured front. The front door "brasses"
had been polished, the window-boxes watered and no cries for aid
issued from the rooms behind them. The house was indeed quiet both
inside and out. Inside it was indeed even quieter than usual. The
servants' preparation for departure had been made gradually and
undisturbedly.


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