CHAPTER I
關燈
小
中
大
OnemayaswellbeginwithHelen’sletterstohersister.
“HowardsEnd,
“Tuesday.
“DearestMeg,
“Itisn’tgoingtobewhatweexpected.Itisoldandlittle,andaltogetherdelightful—redbrick.Wecanscarcelypackinasitis,andthedearknowswhatwillhappenwhenPaul(youngerson)arrivesto-morrow.Fromhallyougorightorleftintodining-roomordrawing-room.Hallitselfispracticallyaroom.Youopenanotherdoorinit,andtherearethestairsgoingupinasortoftunneltothefirst-floor.Threebed-roomsinarowthere,andthreeatticsinarowabove.Thatisn’tallthehousereally,butit’sallthatonenotices—ninewindowsasyoulookupfromthefrontgarden.
“Thenthere’saverybigwych-elm—totheleftasyoulookup—leaningalittleoverthehouse,andstandingontheboundarybetweenthegardenandmeadow.Iquitelovethattreealready.Alsoordinaryelms,oaks—nonastierthanordinaryoaks—pear-trees,apple-trees,andavine.Nosilverbirches,though.However,Imustgetontomyhostandhostess.Ionlywantedtoshowthatitisn’ttheleastwhatweexpected.Whydidwesettlethattheirhousewouldbeallgablesandwiggles,andtheirgardenallgamboge-colouredpat
