The dining-room had ged, too.
I could remember the old room, though I’d never had a meal there, with its brown mantelpied its bronzy-yelloaper—I never knew whether it was meant to be that colour, or had just got like that from age and smoke—and the oil-painting, also by Wm. Sandford, Painter & Carpenter, of the battle of Tel-el-Kebir. Now they’d got the place up in a kind of medieval style. Brick fireplace with inglenooks, a huge beam across the ceiling, oak panelling on the walls, and every bit of it a fake that you could have spotted fifty yards away. The beam was genuine oak, came out of some old sailing-ship, probably, but it didn’t hold anything up, and I had my suspis of the panels as soon as I set eyes on them. As I sat down at my table, and the slick young waiter came towards me fiddling with his napkin, I tapped the wall behind me. Yes! Thought so! Not even wood. They fake it up with some kind of position and then paint it over.
But the lunch wasn’t bad. I had my lamb and mint sauce, and I had a bottle of some white wine or other with a Frename which made me belch a bit but made me feel happy. There was oher person lung there, a woman of about thirty with fair hair, looked like a widow. I wondered whether she was staying at the Gee, and made vague plans to get off with her. It’s funny how your feelings get mixed up. Half the time I was seeing ghosts. The past was stig out into the present, Market day, and the great solid farmers throwing their legs uhe long table, with their hobnails grating oone floor, and w their way through a quantity of beef and dumpling you wouldn’t believe the ……（内容加载失败！）
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