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303 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1929
The screen of trees that reached like an arm from behind the house - embracing the lawns, banks and terraces in mild ascent - had darkened, deepening into a forest. Like splintered darkness, branches pierced the faltering dusk of leaves. Evening drenched the trees; the beeches were soundless cataracts. Behind the trees, pressing in from the open and empty country like an invasion, the orange bright sky crept and smouldered.
Mr Thompson did not entertain very much, but Lois remembered once staying to supper there, early that summer, with David and Gerald. [...] Mr Thompson's dining-room looked out on to trees, that fanned little gusts of light over the table then closed again in green darkness; it smelt of meat and there was an enormous pilastered mahogany sideboard like the front of a temple, inside which they could hear mice running about. Mr Thompson was silent - from fear, they thought, rather than disapproval - he kept drawing long black horsehairs from the seat of his chair and laying them out on the cloth. At each hair, David and Gerald leaned forward and opened their mouths to speak. But Mr Thompson went down in his collar so that they could not: they spoke to each other. And Lois, looking under her lids, had marvelled at this fortress of many opinions. His sister Miss Thompson was present, but she was deaf. The dining-room was dark red, with a smoky ceiling, and Gerald said afterwards he had felt like a disease in a liver. When the blancmange came in it lay down with a sob and Miss Thompson frowned at it. 'Death of the cow,' thought Lois, and saved this up. Livvy kept looking warningly at her friends, but they were all polite. Some ducks filed in a the French window; the guests flapped with their napkins, but Mr Thompson said, 'Oh, let them be,' and sure enough the ducks went round the table with their usual urgent look and out by the window again. Mr Thompson got up and shut out the May air. 'Times change for the worse,' he said to Gerald, who agreed with him so emphatically that David had to repeat the interchange to the anxious Miss Thompson. No wonder Livvy found home dull.
While she could hold him thus -- before he receded or came too closely forward -- she wanted to run indoors and write to Viola. Viola would be certain to tell her she loved him
Looking down, it seemed to Lois they lived in a forest; space of lawns blotted out in the pressure and dusk of trees. She wondered they were not smothered; then wondered still more that they were not afraid...
Only the massed trees -- spread like a rug to dull some keenness, break some contact between self and senses perilous to the routine of living -- only the trees of the demesne were dark and exhaled darkness. Down among them, dusk would stream up the paths ahead, lie stagnant on lawns, would mount in the dank of garden, heightening the walls, dulling the borders as by a rain of ashes...
Seen from above, the house in its pit of trees seemed a very reservoir of obscurity; from the doors one must come out stained with it.