I am that absurd figure, an American millionaire, who has bought one of the ancient haunts of English peace. I sit here, in Edward's gun-room, all day and all day in a house that is absolutely quiet.
No one visits me, for I visit no one. No one is interested in me, for I have no interests. In twenty minutes or so I shall walk down to the village, beneath my own oaks, alongside my own clumps of gorse, to get the American mail. My tenants, the village boys and the tradesmen will touch their hats to me. So life peters out.
How very sad! Sounds like a man with everything and nothing. Nice images - I particularly like the country lane.
ReplyDeleteThat's a good way to describe him!
DeleteSo somber, but beautifully written. Thank you for participating in this month's prompt. :)
ReplyDeleteThanks for hosting! :)
Delete