The Thorburns-yes; they breed so, she echoed; looking at all the round
red faces that seemed doubled in the giddiness that overcame her; and
magnified in the gold mist that enhaloed them. "They breed so." Then
John bawled:
"Little devils! . . . Shoot 'em! Jump on 'em with big boots! That's the
only way to deal with 'em . . . rabbits!"
At that word
Cheap Newport 100s, that magic word
Newport Cigarette, she revived. Peeping between the
chrysanthemums she saw Ernest's nose twitch. It rippled, it ran with
successive twitches. And at that a mysterious catastrophe befell the
Thorburns. The golden table became a moor with the gorse in full bloom;
the din of voices turned to one peal of lark's laughter ringing down
from the sky. It was a blue sky--clouds passed slowly. And they had all
been changed--the Thorburns.