He was away!
* * * * *
It was when George was some fifteen minutes from Temple Colney that
the red-headed Pinner boy, bolstered up with prayer, commended his
soul to God; slipped with painful thud from the haystack; pelted for
Par-par.
CHAPTER IX.
Disaster At Temple Colney.
I.
Three days have passed.
That somewhat pale and haggard-looking young man striding, a basket
beneath his arm, up the main street of Temple Colney is George. The
villagers stop to stare after him; grin, and nudge into one another
responsive grins, at his curious mannerisms. He walks in the exact
centre of the roadway, as far as he can keep from passers-by on either
side. Approached by anyone, he takes a wide circle to avoid that
person. Sometimes a spasm as of fear will cross his face and he will
violently shake the basket he carries. Always he walks with giant
strides. Every morning he shoots out of the inn where he is staying as
though sped on the blast of some ghostly current of air; every
evening, returning, he gives the impression of gathering himself
together on the threshold, then goes bolting in at whirlwind speed. He
is a somewhat pale and haggard young man.
The villagers know him well. He is the young hairship inventor who has
a private sitting-room at the Colney Arms.
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