By Damon Knight
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Additional resources for A For Anything
Between his shoulderblades was a design in purple ink, a stag leaping, with A for Anything 38 the word “BUCKHILL” and a series of numbers under it, enclosed by purple leaves. Still sleepily silent, he wrapped a towel around his master and began to chafe him dry. “Sam, this is my last day at Buckhill,” Dick said. “Yes, Misser Dick. ” “I’ll be away four years. ” “Dess right. You be twenty. ” Dick snorted, feeling a vague sense of outrage. All right, the boy was only a slob—or “slave,” if you wanted to please Dad and use the old term—but even slobs were supposed to have some feelings.
After a moment he saw another, and then a third. The guests were beginning to arrive. A for Anything 47 Chapter Five The Upper Hall was the crowded and stifling with noise. Women in clouds of chiffon and in bags of tweed, some with cheeks rouged in two staring disks, like dolls, others with honest country faces reddened by nothing but food, wine and fresh air, were complaining about the trip, fussing after children, nervously bowing when they encountered each other, like hens uncertain of whom to peck.
He stepped away again, feeling small and apologetic, as he always did after touching the big tree. “Without permission” was the phrase that occurred to him: but of course that was ridiculous. ) and went downward again. He had been listening for the sound of the water, and now he heard it. It grew stronger as he went down the zigzag stairway, his footsteps hollow on the boards. The upper falls, swollen by spring rains, made a thunderous white torrent, dropping short and heavy into the upper pool.
A For Anything by Damon Knight