"
"Piggish!" quoth I, hotly. "Down with them!"
We looked forward to the coming of the poppies, did Bess and I,
looked forward as only creatures of the city may look who have been
long denied. I have forgotten to mention the existence of a house
above the poppy field, a squat and wandering bungalow in which we had
elected to forsake town traditions and live in fresher and more
vigorous ways. The first poppies came, orange-yellow and golden in
the standing grain, and we went about gleefully, as though drunken
with their wine, and told each other that the poppies were there. We
laughed at unexpected moments, in the midst of silences, and at times
grew ashamed and stole forth secretly to gaze upon our treasury. But
when the great wave of poppy-flame finally spilled itself down the
field, we shouted aloud, and danced, and clapped our hands, freely
and frankly mad.
And then came the Goths. My face was in a lather, the time of the
first invasion, and I suspended my razor in mid-air to gaze out on my
beloved field.
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