Explore "Memoirs of a Midget" by Walter de la Mare on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Noiselessly turned the wheels in the grass. We were descending the hill. A jolt, and we were in the road. A hedgerow shut us out from the two shrouded watchers by the tent. The braying music fainted away; and apart from the trotting hoofs and the grinding of the wheels in the dust, the only sound I heard was an occasional lofty crackle in space, as a rocket -- our last greeting from the circus -- stooping on its fiery course, strewed its coloured stars into the moonlight. Then the rearing hillside shut us out.
Speechlessly, from the floor of the cart, I watched the stooping figure above me. Ever and again, at any sudden lurch against a stone, he shrank down, then slowly lifted himself, turned his head and smiled.