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England, My England by D. H. (David Herbert) Lawrence
page 74 of 268 (27%)

'It do, that it do. Bother the days, that they draw in so,' answered Mrs.
Wernham.' Proper miserable!'

'They are,' said Isabel, withdrawing.

She pulled on her overshoes, wrapped a large tartan shawl around her, put
on a man's felt hat, and ventured out along the causeways of the first
yard. It was very dark. The wind was roaring in the great elms behind the
outhouses. When she came to the second yard the darkness seemed deeper.
She was unsure of her footing. She wished she had brought a lantern. Rain
blew against her. Half she liked it, half she felt unwilling to battle.

She reached at last the just visible door of the stable. There was no
sign of a light anywhere. Opening the upper half, she looked in: into a
simple well of darkness. The smell of horses, and ammonia, and of warmth
was startling to her, in that full night. She listened with all her ears,
but could hear nothing save the night, and the stirring of a horse.

'Maurice!' she called, softly and musically, though she was afraid.
'Maurice--are you there?'

Nothing came from the darkness. She knew the rain and wind blew in upon
the horses, the hot animal life. Feeling it wrong, she entered the
stable, and drew the lower half of the door shut, holding the upper part
close. She did not stir, because she was aware of the presence of the
dark hindquarters of the horses, though she could not see them, and she
was afraid. Something wild stirred in her heart.

She listened intensely. Then she heard a small noise in the distance--far
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