Rogue Herries — Hugh Walpole

A little boy, David Scott Herries, lay in a huge canopied bed, halfawake and half asleep.He must be half awake because he knew where he was--he was in thebedroom of the inn with his sisters, Mary and Deborah; they were inthe bed with him, half clothed like himself, fast sleeping. Mary'splump naked arm lay against his cheek, and Deborah's body wascurled into the hollow of his back and her legs were all confusedwith his own. He liked that because he loved, nay, worshipped, hissister Deborah.He knew also that he was awake because, lying looking up, he couldsee the canopy that ran round the top of the bed. It was a dullfaded green with a gold thread in it. He could see the room too,very large, with rough mottled white walls and a big open stonefireplace; there was a roaring, leaping fire--the only light in theroom--and he could see very clearly the big, shining brass fire-dogs with grinning mouths like dragons and stout curly tails.He knew, too, that he was awake, because he could see Alice Presssitting there, her clothes gathered up to her knees, warming herlegs. He did not like Alice Press, but she always fascinated him,and he wondered now of what she was thinking, so motionless, herhead with its red hair pushed forward, her naked neck above hersilver brocade.He knew that he was awake, because he could hear the sounds of theinn, voices calling, doors banging in the wind, steps on the stair,and even the snap-snap of horses' hoofs on the cobbles of the yard.He could hear the wind too, rushing up to the windows and shakingthe panes and tearing away again, and then he shivered, pleasantly,luxuriously, because it was so warm and safe where he was and socold and dangerous outside.Then he shivered again because he remembered that he, with theothers, must soon plunge out again into that same wind and mud anddanger.