“All above the fox coverts, under a sky panting continuously with pale yellow sheet lightning, you could see the conical larches, burnt by summer heat, bronze in the high bright flashes. It was not an evening, after all, to eat hot roast sirloin and baked potatoes and well-larded pies and sizzling yellow plums; and I was in my shirt-sleeves, without a tie, as Tom drove into Evensford to fetch Lydia, leaving me to help Nancy. The little house was suffocating with storm and fire and roasting beef ...and crackling pudding and the smell of table candles, which I had to light early because of the storm. It was perhaps not a very good evening for drinking Burgundy either, but I had bought a bottle as a present for Nancy, and she wanted us to drink it. There were still a few pale yellow roses on the house wall and I ran out, at the last moment, just before darkness fell, to gather what I could and put them on the table. I uncorked the bottle of Burgundy and set it there too, between the candles and the roses, and there was a delicate fire on it and on the still dry petals.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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