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The Garden Party and Other Stories by Katherine Mansfield
page 73 of 225 (32%)

No, better not put such ideas into the child's head! "Nothing! Run
along."

It was just growing dusky as Laura shut their garden gates. A big dog ran
by like a shadow. The road gleamed white, and down below in the hollow the
little cottages were in deep shade. How quiet it seemed after the
afternoon. Here she was going down the hill to somewhere where a man lay
dead, and she couldn't realize it. Why couldn't she? She stopped a
minute. And it seemed to her that kisses, voices, tinkling spoons,
laughter, the smell of crushed grass were somehow inside her. She had no
room for anything else. How strange! She looked up at the pale sky, and
all she thought was, "Yes, it was the most successful party."

Now the broad road was crossed. The lane began, smoky and dark. Women in
shawls and men's tweed caps hurried by. Men hung over the palings; the
children played in the doorways. A low hum came from the mean little
cottages. In some of them there was a flicker of light, and a shadow,
crab-like, moved across the window. Laura bent her head and hurried on.
She wished now she had put on a coat. How her frock shone! And the big
hat with the velvet streamer--if only it was another hat! Were the people
looking at her? They must be. It was a mistake to have come; she knew all
along it was a mistake. Should she go back even now?

No, too late. This was the house. It must be. A dark knot of people
stood outside. Beside the gate an old, old woman with a crutch sat in a
chair, watching. She had her feet on a newspaper. The voices stopped as
Laura drew near. The group parted. It was as though she was expected, as
though they had known she was coming here.

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