(no subject)
If Edward wavers in his determination to drag himself mulish and protesting to seminary and to ordination, he shows no one. His dogged and dog-eared essays issue forth with the regularity of a clockwork scholar. They are never late, always adequate, and always "an unholy mess". Fewer tangents, his tutors tell him, less invective. The trouble is that even when his words are measured, his handwriting betrays him.
Edward Batterbee might argue the hind legs from an ass but he also cannot keep a straight line at the threat of death, keep his hair in good order, nor can he - though he ape Desmond exactly as he can - dress like a gentleman rather than a gentleman who, in setting out, has somehow fallen through a bush. His attempts at keeping order both in penmanship and attire are as damned as his attempts at verse, and rather less heartfelt.
The blissful silence of the coppice - silent in the fashion of woodlands, which ring with bird song ("Song thrush, black bird, great tit," says Alexander, pointing in the approximate directions), and the wind caressing the leaves, and the playful dance of the stream in which their bare feet dangle - conspires with the soporific sun to droop Edward's head onto Alexander's pale shoulder.
Alexander only moves his arm until it supports them both.
Edward Batterbee might argue the hind legs from an ass but he also cannot keep a straight line at the threat of death, keep his hair in good order, nor can he - though he ape Desmond exactly as he can - dress like a gentleman rather than a gentleman who, in setting out, has somehow fallen through a bush. His attempts at keeping order both in penmanship and attire are as damned as his attempts at verse, and rather less heartfelt.
The blissful silence of the coppice - silent in the fashion of woodlands, which ring with bird song ("Song thrush, black bird, great tit," says Alexander, pointing in the approximate directions), and the wind caressing the leaves, and the playful dance of the stream in which their bare feet dangle - conspires with the soporific sun to droop Edward's head onto Alexander's pale shoulder.
Alexander only moves his arm until it supports them both.