I-XX

Clare's funeral deducted a further sum
from the amount Gordon had received for
the sale of his home, but he had left still
nine hundred and odd dollars. He revolved in his
mind the disposition of this sum, once more sitting
with chair tilted back against the dingy wooden home
of the _Greenstream_Bugle_; he rehearsed its possibilities
for frugality, for independence, as a reserve
...or for pleasure. It was the hottest hour of the
day; the prospect before him, the uneven street, the
houses beyond, were coated with dust, gilded by the
refulgent sun. No one stirred; a red cow that had
been cropping the grass in the broad, shallow gutter
opposite sank down in the meager shadow of
a chance pear tree; even the children were absent,
the piercing, staccato cries of their games unheard.

To Gordon Makimmon Greenstream suddenly appeared
insufferably dull, empty; the thought of
monotonous, identical days spun thinly out, the
nine hundred dollars extended to its greatest length,
in that banal setting, suddenly grew unbearable.
...There was no life in Greenstream...

[[100]]

p099 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p100w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p101

v?