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Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
172
Brief
was
the
freshness
of
the
dawn.
From
all
points
of
the
compass,
dark
grey
clouds
mounted
into
the
sky.
There,
taking
their
places
as
though
in
accordance
to
a
strategic
plan
laid
down
for
them,
they
ponderously
massed
themselves,
and
presently,
as
at
a
given
signal,
drew
nearer
to
earth,
and
halted,
an
irresistible
great
army,
awaiting
orders.
Somewhere
under
cover
of
them
the
sun
went
his
way,
transmitting
a
sulphurous
heat.
The
very
birds
in
the
trees
of
Trinity
were
oppressed
and
did
not
twitter.
The
very
leaves
did
not
whisper.
Out
through
the
railings,
and
across
the
road,
prowled
a
skimpy
and
dingy
cat,
trying
to
look
like
a
tiger.
It
was
all
very
sinister
and
dismal.
The
hours
passed.
The
Broad
put
forth,
one
by
one,
its
signs
of
waking.
Soon
after
eight
o’clock,
as
usual,
the
front-door
of
the
Duke’s
lodgings
was
opened
from
within.
The
Emperors
watched
for
the
faint
cloud
of
dust
that
presently
emerged,
and
for
her
whom
it
preceded.
To
them,
this
first
outcoming
of
the
landlady’s
daughter
was
a
moment
of
daily
interest.
Katie!--they
had
known
her
as
a
toddling
child;
and
later
as
a
little
girl
scampering
off
to
school,
all
legs
and
pinafore
and
streaming
golden
hair.
And
now
she
was
sixteen
years
old.
Her
hair,
tied
back
at
the
nape
of
her
neck,
would
very
soon
be
“up.”
Her
big
blue
eyes
were
as
they
had
always
been;
but
she
had
long
passed
out
of
pinafores
into
aprons,
had
taken
on
a
sedateness
befitting
her
years
and
her
duties,
and
was
anxious
to
be
regarded
rather
as
an
aunt
than
as
a
sister
by
her
brother
Clarence,
aged
twelve.
The
Emperors
had
always
predicted
that
she
would
be
pretty.
And
very
pretty
she
was.
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