“I was to come to Lissawn House for tea. “You can’t miss it. Take the road south past the hotel. Then first turn right. Drive a mile till you come to the bushes. Our gate is just beyond on the right. Mind you close it behind you or the beasts’ll be galloping out,” he said, in between paroxysms of coughing. “Are you a fisherman?” “Well—” “I’ll lend you a rod.” Flurry rang off abruptly, before I had time to tell him I’d not fished since I was a boy. Sean had demonstrated his mastery over the machi...nery when I strolled along to the garage at midday. The engine was running sweetly again. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to attend to you when you drove in, Mr. Eyre. Peadar’s no use at all.” “The old fellow—?” “That’s him. My second cousin. They put him out to grass ten years ago. He likes guarding the pump for me when I’m away: it gives him an interest in life.” Sean was a bright-eyed, dark young man, with a trick of wiping his oily fingers on the waist of his jersey.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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