Explore "Memoirs of a Midget" by Walter de la Mare on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
A morning or two afterwards we set out on our homeward journey -- the sea curdling softly into foam on its stones, a solitary ship in the distance on its dim, blue horizon. We were a dejected pair of travellers, keeping each a solemn face turned aside at the window, thinking our thoughts, and avoiding, as far as we could, any interchange of looks that might betray them one to the other. For the first time in our friendship Mrs. Bowater was a little short and impatient with me over difficulties and inconveniences which I could not avoid, owing to my size.
Her key in the lock of the door, she looked down on me in the porch, a thin smile between nose and cheek. "No place like home there mayn't be, miss," she began, "but -- " The dark passage was certainly uninviting; the clock had stopped. "I think I'll be calling round for Henry," she added abruptly.