Ghent

Nevertheless, since the woman had occasion to walk past the house so as to reach the woodshed, he wished to make sure that her shadow, as she passed his windows, would not offend him.

He had designed for her a costume of Flemish silk with a white bonnet and large black lowered hood, such as is still worn by the nuns of Ghent.

The shadow of this headdress in the twilight gave him the sensation of being in a cloister, brought back memories of silent holy villages, dead quarters enclosed and buried in some quiet corner of a bustling town.

The hours of eating were also regulated.

There's been so many games where It's been screaming out for him to come in.

And you remember, I think we'd said before, that maybe in the Ghent game away, we need to start Josh Campbell.

He plays against Ghent, and we get a 0-0 draw.

A very credible 0-0 draw away from home.

The following week, when he doesn't start, and it's not the reason we lost, by the way.

But when they get on the park playing under pressure, they buckle.

And that seems to be what's happening.

There's evidence in that in the big games, like against the A-Cunts last week, against Ghent, and the late goals who are just crumbling.

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End of poem How They Brought the Good News from Ghent to A by Robert Browning This LibriVox recording is in the public domain.

i sprang to the stirrup and joris and he i galloped dirk galloped we galloped all three god speed cried the watch as the gate-bolts undrew speed echoed the wall to us galloping through behind shut the postern the lights sank to rest and into the midnight we galloped abreast not a word to each other we kept the great pace neck by neck stride by stride never changing our place i turned in my saddle and made its girth tight then shortened each stirrup and set the peak right rebuckled the cheek-strap chain-slacker the bit nor galloped less steadily roland a whit twas moonset at starting but while we drew near loughran the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear at boom a great yellow star came out to sea at duffield twas morning as plain as could be and from mecklenchurch steeple we heard the half chime so joris broke silence with yet there is time at earshot up leaped of a sudden the sun and against him the cattle stood black every one to stare through the mist at us galloping past and i saw my stout galloper roland at last with resolute shoulders each butting away the haze as some bluff river headland its spray and his low head and crest just one sharp ear bent back for my voice and the other pricked out on his track and one eye's black intelligence ever that glance or its white edge at me his own master askance and the thick heavy spoon flakes which eye and anon his fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on by hassle dirk groaned and cried joris stay spur your roost galloped bravely the fault's not in her we'll remember it eh for we heard the quick wheeze off her chest saw the stretched neck and staggering knees and sunk tail in horrible heaves of the flank as down on her haunches she shuddered and sank so we were left galloping joris and i past loos and past tongray no cloud in the sky the broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh neath our feet broke the brittle bright stubble like chaff till over by delham a domespire sprung white and gallop gasped joris for a is in sight how they'll greet us and all in a moment his roan rolled neck and crop over lay dead as a stone and there was my roland to bear the whole weight of the news which alone could save a from her fate with his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim and with circles of red for his eye sockets rim then i cast loose my buff coat each holster let fall shook off both my jack boots let go belt and all stood up in the stirrup leaned patted his ear called my roland his pet name my horse without peer clapped my hands laughed and sung any noise bad or good till at length into a roland galloped and stood and all i remember is friends flocking round as i sat with his head twixt my knees on the ground and no voice but was praising this roland of mine as i poured down his throat our last measure of wine which the burgesses voted by common consent was no more than his jew who brought good

news from ghent