Explore "The Rambler Club's Aeroplane" by W. Crispin Sheppard on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
"Well, what are you going to do about it, dad? " remarked Cranny, two days later.
Father and son were seated in wicker chairs on the portico, enjoying a pleasant breeze which gently rustled the leaves, as it sighed its way out toward the bay. The distorted shadow of the house cut across a freshly-mown lawn; cool, silvery moonlight lay beyond, its pale rays detaching from obscurity houses and clumps of trees. Patches of mysterious gloom stretched here and there, while the placid bay, far beneath, blended insensibly outward into the soft, grayish blue of a cloudless sky.