The Lamp of the Wicked
“‘I can’t discuss this,’ she’d said miserably when she saw the dog collar. ‘You’ll have to speak to Mr Lodge.’ And went on talking about the rain and how much of it there was these days, until he was pulling off his wellies at the kitchen door.
Out of the plain, square kitchen windows, all Merrily could see was damp fog, greenish like mucus.
Mr Lodge: this defined him now. His father was dead, and he was the eldest brother. This was his farmhouse, brown-washed and hunched into the foggy hillside..., and this was his name: Mr Lodge, the last one in the valley.
They looked at one another. By the frosted fluorescent tube on the kitchen ceiling, Merrily saw a fawn-haired man in a working farmer’s green nylon overalls, edging quietly towards sixty, lean and wary as a dog fox. He saw something that evidently worried him.
He coughed. ‘I’m sorry I, er, I didn’t expect you’d be a woman.’ Well now, wouldn’t she be running a wealthier parish, if she had a pound for every time someone had said that?MoreLess
Out of the plain, square kitchen windows, all Merrily could see was damp fog, greenish like mucus.
Mr Lodge: this defined him now. His father was dead, and he was the eldest brother. This was his farmhouse, brown-washed and hunched into the foggy hillside..., and this was his name: Mr Lodge, the last one in the valley.
They looked at one another. By the frosted fluorescent tube on the kitchen ceiling, Merrily saw a fawn-haired man in a working farmer’s green nylon overalls, edging quietly towards sixty, lean and wary as a dog fox. He saw something that evidently worried him.
He coughed. ‘I’m sorry I, er, I didn’t expect you’d be a woman.’ Well now, wouldn’t she be running a wealthier parish, if she had a pound for every time someone had said that?MoreLess
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