His lordship's mind stirs even
under its counterpane of cards and dice and buttered claret and snuff
and fripperies, and one might think he heard the echo of a thrush's
song sung when he was a boy (Unbelievable thought), and climbed trees.
And where do you come from?
HARLEQUIN. The country, my lord.
EGLANTINE. I lived in the country once. There used to be things one picked
in the hedges ...
[He has forgotten those, too.
HARLEQUIN. Blackberries?
EGLANTINE. I don't think they were called blackberries. Things with a rough
husky scent.
[Columbine's lips make a pretty pout. In another moment we should hear
Prim--...
The girl has it. Primroses. One forgets. One lives to learn to forget. [He
likes the sound of that. It fits the sense. It is almost an epigram.] A
guinea, child, for the song. Sing at your work. I like to hear you.
[She floats away. Eglantine has turned to his mirror.
Fifteen thousand pounds lost and not another wrinkle. Sir Jeffrey Rake had
it of me last night.
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