I pay for
both!"
"Very good of you," Aynesworth answered.
"Not at all. I don't suppose you'd come without. Can you shoot?"
"A bit," he admitted.
"Be particular about the rifles. I can take you to a little corner in
Canada where the bears don't stand on ceremony. Put everything in
hand, and be ready to come down to Cornwall with me on Monday."
"Cornwall!" Aynesworth exclaimed. "What on earth are we going to do in
Cornwall?"
"I have an estate there, the home of my ancestors, which I am going to
sell. I am the last of the Setons, fortunately, and I am going to
smash the family tree, sell the heirlooms, and burn the family
records!"
"I shouldn't if I were you," Aynesworth said quietly. "You are a young
man yet. You may come back to your own!"
"Meaning?"
"You may smoke enough cigarettes to become actually humanized! One can
never tell! I have known men proclaim themselves cynics for life, who
have been making idiots of themselves with their own children in five
years."
Wingrave nodded gravely.
"True enough," he answered. "But the one thing which no man can
mistake is death. Listen, and I will quote some poetry to you. I
think--it is something like this:--
"'The rivers of ice may melt, and the mountains crumble into dust, but
the heart of a dead man is like the seed plot unsown. Green grass
shall not sprout there, nor flowers blossom, nor shall all the ages of
eternity show there any sign of life.
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