In the Den that evening there was one world within another, though
only these two, and probably the intuitive and diabolically observant
Minks, perceived it. The deep furnaces of this man's inner being,
banked now so long that mere little flames had forgotten their way
out, lay open at last to that mighty draught before whose fusing power
the molten, fluid state becomes inevitable.
'You must come up to me' rang on in his head like a chime of bells. 'O
think Beauty: it's your duty....'
The chairs were already round the open fireplace, when Monkey pushed
him into the big one with the broken springs he always used, and
established herself upon his knee. Jimbo was on the other in a
twinkling. Jane Anne plumped down upon the floor against him. Her hair
was up, and grown-ups might sit as they pleased. Minks in a hard,
straight-backed chair, firmly assured everybody that he was
exceedingly comfortable and really preferred stiff chairs. He found
safety next to Mother who, pleased and contented, filled one corner of
the sofa and looked as though she occupied a pedestal. Beyond her
perched Daddy, on the music stool, leaning his back against the
unlighted fourneau. The Wumble Book was balanced on his knees, and
beside him sat the little figure of the visitor who, though at the
end, was yet somehow the true centre of the circle.
Pages:
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572