Horses in the house; small ones

Davison regards it as convenient that the lake has moved that much closer to the house. This, of course, is the kind of utterance one hesitates to take at face value. Davison, of course, is giving nothing away, merely reaching anew for the teapot, testing it for content, then indicating with a look that I should boil the kettle again.

The afternoon sun does things to a chap, Davison agrees. Soap-smooth bars of Sunlight Soap-shaped sunlight drape languorously across the unfinished wood of the table. Davision chances a tootle on his oboe and the mood is perfected.

The kettle boils and everything and more seems possible.