The sisters stood to look
at him. An ironical smile flickered on Gudrun's face.
'Doesn't he feel important?' smiled Gudrun.
'Doesn't he!' exclaimed Ursula, with a little ironical grimace. 'Isn't
he a little Lloyd George of the air!'
'Isn't he! Little Lloyd George of the air! That's just what they are,'
cried Gudrun in delight. Then for days, Ursula saw the persistent,
obtrusive birds as stout, short politicians lifting up their voices
from the platform, little men who must make themselves heard at any
cost.
But even from this there came the revulsion. Some yellowhammers
suddenly shot along the road in front of her. And they looked to her so
uncanny and inhuman, like flaring yellow barbs shooting through the air
on some weird, living errand, that she said to herself: 'After all, it
is impudence to call them little Lloyd Georges. They are really unknown
to us, they are the unknown forces. It is impudence to look at them as
if they were the same as human beings. They are of another world.
Pages:
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553