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Fennel and Rue by William Dean Howells
page 88 of 140 (62%)




XVII.

It rained throughout the evening, with a wailing of the wind in the
gables, and a weeping and a sobbing of the water from the eaves that Mrs.
Westangle's guests, securely housed from the storm, made the most of for
weirdness. There had been a little dancing, which gave way to so much
sitting-out that the volunteer music abruptly ceased as if in dudgeon,
and there was nothing left but weirdness to bring young hearts together.
Weirdness can do a good deal with girls lounging in low chairs, and young
men on rugs round a glowing hearth at their feet; and every one told some
strange thing that had happened at first hand, or second or third hand,
either to himself or herself, or to their fathers or brothers or
grandmothers or old servants. They were stimulated in eking out these
experiences not only by the wildness of the rain without, but by the
mystery of being shut off from the library into the drawing-room and hall
while the preparations for the following night were beginning. But
weirdness is not inexhaustible, even when shared on such propitious terms
between a group of young people rapidly advanced in intimacy by a week's
stay under the same roof, and at the first yawn a gay dispersion of the
votaries ended it all.

The yawn came from Bushwick, who boldly owned, when his guilt was brought
home to him, that he was sleepy, and then as he expected to be scared out
of a year's growth the next night, and not be able to sleep for a week
afterwards, he was now going to bed. He shook hands with Mrs. Westangle
for good-night. The latest to follow him was Verrian, who, strangely
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