This Thurlow’s has a dwelling on a small hill- a secluded domain of unforeseen calamity. The house is raised by invisible stilts and has a wooden flight of steps to the front door. As the house if isolated and exposed in any position where wind strikes at it from all quarters. In front of the house there lay empty ploughed lands and has the color of wet steel. The country outside has its wide horizons has the beauty per excellence. But all this means nothing to Mrs. Thurlow. She is circling in the sphere of her houses hills empty barren front lands and the windy shakes. All this situations perfectly suits the psyche of Mrs. Thurlow. Read More Short Stories She is burdening her world with the circumference of hazards. Her gamut of thought, her liking and disliking so profusely and profoundly within the small circumference of living and sustenance of her family and her sons that she is, in real sense isolated, dejected, dilapidated, rejected and frustrated in a condition that is perfectly an objective correlative to the very setting of the house.
|H. E. Bates|