Simple Things Sunday

“We should grow old here together, we should sit like this to our tea as old people, Maxim and I, with other dogs, the succeasors of these, and the library would wear the same ancient musty smell that it did now. It would know a period of glorious shabbiness and wear when the boys were young–our boys–for I saw them sprawling on the sofa with muddy boots, bringing with them always a little of rods, and crickets bats, great clasp-knives, bows and arrows.
On the table there, polished now and plain, an ugly case would stand containing butterflies and moths, and another one with bird’s eggs, wrapped in cotton wool. “Not all this junk in here,” I would say, “take them to the schoolroom, darlings,” and they would run off, shouting, calling to one another, but the little one staying behind, Β pottering on his own, quieter than the others.”

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