Поющие в терновнике

           Therehadnotbeenanyraininalongtime,evenasprinkletosettlethedustanddrowntheflies;forthelessrain,themoreflies,themoredust.

           Everyceilingwasfestoonedwithlong,lazilyspinninghelixesofstickyflypaper,blackwithbodieswithinadayofbeingtackedup.Nothingcouldbeleftuncoveredforamomentwithoutbecomingeitheranorgyoragraveyardfortheflies,andtinyspecklesofflydirtdewedthefurniture,thewalls,theGillanboneGeneralStorecalendar.

           Andoh,thedust!Therewasnogettingawayfromit,thatfine-grainedbrownpowderwhichseepedintoeventightlyliddedcontainers,dulledfreshlywashedhair,madetheskingritty,layinthefoldsofclothesandcurtains,smearedafilmacrosspolishedtableswhichresettledthemomentitwaswhiskedaway.Thefloorswerethickwithit,fromcarelesslywipedbootsandthehotdrywinddriftingitthroughtheopendoorsandwindows;FeewasforcedtorollupherPersiancarpetsintheparlorandhaveStuartnaildownlinoleumsheboughtsightunseenfromthestoreinGilly.

           Thekitchen,whichtookmostofthetrafficfromoutside,wasflooredinteakplanksbleachedtothecolorofoldbonesbyendlessscrubbingwithawirebrushandlyesoap.FeeandMeggiewouldstrewitwithsawdustStuartcarefullycollectedfromthewoodheap,sprinklethesawdustwithpreciousparticlesofwaterandsweepthedamp,pungent-fragrantmessawayoutofdoors,downofftheverandaontothevegetablegarden,theretodecomposeitselftohumus.