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290
Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
181
Deeply
regret
inform
your
grace
last
night
two
black
owls
came
and
perched
on
battlements
remained
there
through
night
hooting
at
dawn
flew
away
none
knows
whither
awaiting
instructions
Jellings
The
Duke’s
face,
though
it
grew
white,
moved
not
one
muscle.
Somewhat
shamed
now,
the
gods
ceased
from
laughing.
The
Duke
looked
from
the
telegram
to
the
boy.
“Have
you
a
pencil?”
he
asked.
“Yes,
my
Lord,”
said
the
boy,
producing
a
stump
of
pencil.
Holding
the
prepaid
form
against
the
door,
the
Duke
wrote:
Jellings
Tankerton
Hall
Prepare
vault
for
funeral
Monday
Dorset
His
handwriting
was
as
firmly
and
minutely
beautiful
as
ever.
Only
in
that
he
forgot
there
was
nothing
to
pay
did
he
belie
his
calm.
“Here,”
he
said
to
the
boy,
“is
a
shilling;
and
you
may
keep
the
change.”
“Thank
you,
my
Lord,”
said
the
boy,
and
went
his
way,
as
happy
as
a
postman.
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