Explore "Dick's Desertion" by Marjorie Pickthall on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The following morning Dick was up and out before even the early rising / Collinsons were stirring. It was one of those mornings in late / November which seem to be a faint, sad recollection of spring. The sun / had not yet appeared above the far-off edge where the misty forest / lands faded into mistier skies, but the promise of his approach / thrilled the leafless, songless world to deeper quiet. Everything was / hushed and dark; but in the east a clear bar of amber broadened and / brightened slowly.
Yet it would be some time, Dick knew, before it became really light. / He wandered through the frosty garden, the noise of his footsteps in / the dried leaves sounding harsh and clamorous; but save for this, and / for the lanterns which moved about the farm buildings as some of the / hands attended to the stock, the world seemed wholly given up to shade / and silence.