Explore "Luke's Wife" by Evelyn R. Garratt on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Luke paced up and down the lawn of his pretty Rectory. The moon was shedding its silver light on grass and trees; the flowers were flinging their perfume around him; a nightingale trilled out its song from a tree in the distance; but it all meant nothing to Luke. His soul was crying out for crowds of human beings; for his fellow men; for the rush and excitement of city life; for the tumult and whirl of London.
The silence of this summer night broken only by the song of the nightingale was almost unbearable. The thought of his village church sparsely filled with farmers and their wives, and labourers, who listened to him with their mouths open in astonishment at the oratory of their new "parson," the remembrance of the cottages nestling on the hill below the Rectory, with their walls covered with roses and honey suckle, and whose occupants he had already visited several times during his short stay among them, had no charm for him.