Bengali Meaning of The Garden Party by Katherine Mansfield


Bengali Meaning of The Garden Party by Katherine Mansfield



And after all the weather was ideal. They could not have had a more perfect day for a garden-party if they had ordered it. Windless, warm, the sky without a cloud. Only the blue was veiled with a haze of light gold, as it is sometimes in early summer. 

āĻĒ্āϰāĻ•ৃāϤāĻĒāĻ•্āώে āĻĒুāϰো āφāĻŦāĻšাāĻ“ā§Ÿাāϟা āĻ–ুāĻŦ āϏুāύ্āĻĻāϰ (āφāĻĻāϰ্āĻļ) āĻ›িāϞ। āϝāĻĻি āĻ“āϰা āĻ“āϟা āĻ…āϰ্āĻĄাāϰ āĻ•āϰāϤ, āϤাāĻšāϞে āωāĻĻ্āϝাāύ āϏāĻŽ্āĻŽেāϞāύেāϰ āϜāύ্āϝ āĻāϤ āĻ­াāϞো (āωāĻĒāϝুāĻ•্āϤ) āĻĻিāύ āĻ“āϰা āĻ•āĻ–āύোāχ āĻĒেāϤ āύা। āĻŦাāϤাāϏāĻšীāύ, āωāώ্āĻŖ , āĻŽেāϘāĻŽুāĻ•্āϤ āφāĻ•াāĻļ। āĻļুāϧুāĻŽাāϤ্āϰ āύীāϞ āφāĻ•াāĻļāϟি āĻšাāϞ্āĻ•া āϏোāύাāϞী āφāϞোāϰ āϘোāĻŽāϟা āĻĻ্āĻŦাāϰা āφāĻŦৃāϤ āĻ›িāϞ, āϝেāϰāĻ•āĻŽ āĻ—্āϰীāώ্āĻŽেāϰ āĻļুāϰুāϤে āĻŽাāĻে āĻŽাāĻে āĻšā§Ÿে āĻĨাāĻ•ে। 





The gardener had been up since dawn, mowing the lawns and sweeping them, until the grass and the dark flat rosettes where the daisy plants had been seemed to shine. As for the roses, you could not help feeling they understood that roses are the only flowers that impress people at garden-parties; the only flowers that everybody is certain of knowing. 


āĻŦাāĻ—াāύেāϰ āĻŽাāϞি āϏেāχ āĻ­োāϰāĻŦেāϞা āĻĨেāĻ•ে āωāĻ ে āϘাāϏে āĻĸাāĻ•া āϜāĻŽিāϤে āϘাāϏ āĻ•াāϟাāϰ āϝāύ্āϤ্āϰ āĻĻি⧟ে āϘাāϏ āĻ•াāϟে, āϝāϤāĻ•্āώāĻŖ āύা āĻĒāϰ্āϝāύ্āϤ āϘাāϏে āĻ­āϰা āĻ—াā§ āϜা⧟āĻ—াāϟিāϤে āĻāĻ•āϟি āĻ—োāϞাāĻĒেāϰ āύāĻ•āĻļা āϤৈāϰী āĻšā§Ÿ, āϝেāĻ–াāύে āĻĄেāχāϜি āĻĢুāϞāĻ—াāĻ›āĻ—ুāϞোāϰ āωāϜ্āϜ্āĻŦāϞ āωāĻĒāϏ্āĻĨিāϤি āĻ›িāϞ। āĻāχ āĻ—োāϞাāĻĒেāϰ āϜāύ্āϝ āφāĻĒāύাāĻ•ে āĻ…āύুāĻ­āĻŦ āĻ•āϰāϤে āĻšāĻŦেāχ āϝে āĻ“āϰা āϜাāύে āĻ—োāϞাāĻĒāχ āĻāĻ•āĻŽাāϤ্āϰ āĻĢুāϞ āϝা āωāĻĻ্āϝাāύ āϏāĻŽ্āĻŽেāϞāύে āĻŽাāύুāώāĻ•ে āĻŽুāĻ—্āϧ āĻ•āϰে; āĻāϟিāχ āĻāĻ•āĻŽাāϤ্āϰ āĻĢুāϞ āϝাāϰ āϏāĻŽ্āĻĒāϰ্āĻ•ে āϏāĻŦাāχ āύিāĻļ্āϚিāϤāĻ­াāĻŦে āϜাāύে।





Hundreds, yes, literally hundreds, had come out in a single night; the green bushes bowed down as though they had been visited by archangels.


 āĻļāϤ āĻļāϤ, āĻš্āϝাঁ, āϏāϤ্āϝিāχ āĻļāϤ āĻļāϤ, āĻļুāϧুāĻŽাāϤ্āϰ āĻāĻ• āϰাāϤ্āϰেāχ āĻĢুāϟেāĻ›িāϞ। āφāϰ āϏāĻŦুāϜ āĻোāĻĒāĻ—ুāϞি āĻāĻŽāύāĻ­াāĻŦে āύু⧟ে āĻĒ⧜েāĻ›িāϞ āϝেāύ āϤাāĻĻেāϰ āϏāĻ™্āĻ—ে āĻĻেāĻ–া āĻ•āϰāϤে āĻĻেāĻŦāĻĻূāϤ āĻāϏেāĻ›ে।




Breakfast was not yet over before the men came to put up the marquee.

"Where do you want the marquee put, mother?"

"My dear child, it's no use asking me. I'm determined to leave everything to you children this year. Forget I am your mother. Treat me as an honoured guest."


āĻĒ্āϰাāϤāϰাāĻļ āĻļেāώ āĻšāĻ“ā§Ÿাāϰ āφāĻ—েāχ āĻŦ⧜ো āϤাঁāĻŦু āĻ–াāϟাāύোāϰ āϜāύ্āϝ āϞোāĻ•āϜāύ āĻāϏে āĻšাāϜিāϰ āĻšāϞো।

"āĻŽা, āϤুāĻŽি āĻ•োāύāĻ–াāύāϟা⧟ āϤাঁāĻŦু āĻ–াāϟাāϤে āϚাāĻ“?"

"āϏোāύা, āφāĻŽাāĻ•ে āϜিāϜ্āĻžাāϏা āĻ•āϰে āϞাāĻ­ āύেāχ। āφāĻŽি āĻāχ āĻŦāĻ›āϰ āϤোāĻŽাāĻĻেāϰ, āϏāĻŦ āĻŦাāϚ্āϚাāĻĻেāϰ āωāĻĒāϰ āϏāĻŦāĻ•িāĻ›ু āĻ›ে⧜ে āĻĻেāĻŦাāϰ āϏিāĻĻ্āϧাāύ্āϤ āĻŽāύāϏ্āĻĨিāϰ āĻ•āϰেāĻ›ি। āĻ­ুāϞে āϝাāĻ“ āϝে āφāĻŽি āϤোāĻŽাāϰ āĻŽা। āφāĻŽাāϰ āϏāĻ™্āĻ—ে āĻāĻ•āϜāύ āϏāĻŽ্āĻŽাāύী⧟ āĻ…āϤিāĻĨিāϰ āĻŽāϤ āĻŦ্āϝāĻŦāĻšাāϰ āĻ•āϰāĻŦে।"







But Meg could not possibly go and supervise the men. She had washed her hair before breakfast, and she sat drinking her coffee in a green turban, with a dark wet curl stamped on each cheek. Jose, the butterfly, always came down in a silk petticoat and a kimono jacket.

āĻ•িāύ্āϤু āĻŽেāĻ— āϏāĻŽ্āĻ­āĻŦāϤঃ āĻ›েāϞেāĻ—ুāϞোāĻ•ে āĻĻেāĻ–াāĻļোāύা āĻ•āϰāϤে āĻĒাāϰāĻŦে āύা। āϏāĻ•াāϞেāϰ āϜāϞāĻ–াāĻŦাāϰ āĻ–াāĻ“ā§Ÿাāϰ āφāĻ—েāχ āϤাāϰ āĻŽাāĻĨা āϘāώা āĻšā§Ÿে āĻ—ি⧟েāĻ›িāϞ। āϏāĻŦুāϜ āϰāĻ™েāϰ āĻĒাāĻ—ā§œি āĻŽাāĻĨা⧟ āĻŦেঁāϧে āϏে āĻ•āĻĢি āĻĒাāύ āĻ•āϰāĻ›িāϞ। āϤাāϰ āĻĻুāχ āĻ—াāϞেāϰ āωāĻĒāϰ āĻāĻ•āϟি āĻ•āϰে āĻ•াāϞো āĻ­েāϜা āĻ•োঁāĻ•ā§œাāύো āϚুāϞ āĻāϏে āĻĒ⧜েāĻ›িāϞ। āϜোāϏ, āϤাāϰ āĻāĻ•āϟি āϏিāϞ্āĻ•েāϰ āĻĒেāϟিāĻ•োāϟ āĻāĻŦং āĻāĻ•āϟি āĻ•িāĻŽোāύো āϜ্āϝাāĻ•েāϟ āĻĒāϰে āĻĒ্āϰāϜাāĻĒāϤিāϰ āĻŽāϤো āύেāĻŽে āĻāϞ।





"You'll have to go, Laura; you're the artistic one."

Away Laura flew, still holding her piece of bread-and-butter. It's so delicious to have an excuse for eating out of doors, and besides, she loved having to arrange things; she always felt she could do it so much better than anybody else.

"āϤোāĻŽাāĻ•ে āϝেāϤেāχ āĻšāĻŦে, āϞ্āϝāϰা; āϤুāĻŽি āĻšāϞে āĻāĻ•āϜāύ āĻļিāϞ্āĻĒী।"

āϞ্āϝāϰা āϤাāϰ āĻŽাāĻ–āύ āϞাāĻ—াāύো āĻĒাāωāϰুāϟিāϰ āϟুāĻ•āϰোāϟা āĻšাāϤে āϧāϰা āĻ…āĻŦāϏ্āĻĨাāϤেāχ āĻ›ুāϟে āĻĒাāϞাāϞো। āϝে āĻ•োāύো āĻ…āϜুāĻšাāϤে āĻĻāϰāϜাāϰ āĻŦাāχāϰে āĻ—ি⧟ে āĻ–েāϞে āĻŦāϏ্āϤুāϟি āφāϰāĻ“ āϏুāϏ্āĻŦাāĻĻু āϞাāĻ—ে, āϤাāϰ āĻĒাāĻļাāĻĒাāĻļি āϜিāύিāϏāĻĒāϤ্āϰ āĻ—ুāĻ›ি⧟ে āϰাāĻ–āϤেāĻ“ āϏে āĻ–ুāĻŦ āĻ­াāϞāĻŦাāϏে, āϏে āϏāĻŦāϏāĻŽā§Ÿāχ āĻ­াāĻŦে āϝে āĻ…āύ্āϝ āĻ•াāϰāĻ“ āϚে⧟ে āϏে āϝে āĻ•োāύāĻ“ āĻ•াāϜ āφāϰāĻ“ āĻ—ুāĻ›ি⧟ে āĻ•āϰāϤে āĻĒাāϰে।



Four men in their shirt-sleeves stood grouped together on the garden path. They carried staves covered with rolls of canvas, and they had big tool-bags slung on their backs. They looked impressive. Laura wished now that she was not holding that piece of bread-and-butter, but there was nowhere to put it, and she couldn't possibly throw it away. She blushed and tried to look severe and even a little bit short-sighted as she came up to them.

āĻšাāϤা āϤোāϞা āĻļাāϰ্āϟ āĻĒāϰা āϚাāϰāϜāύ āϞোāĻ• āĻāĻ•āϏāĻ™্āĻ—ে āĻĻāϞ āĻŦেঁāϧে āĻŦাāĻ—াāύেāϰ āĻĒāĻĨে āĻĻাঁ⧜ি⧟েāĻ›িāϞ। āĻ•্āϝাāύāĻ­াāϏেāϰ āϰোāϞ āĻĻি⧟ে āĻŽু⧜ে āϰাāĻ–া āϞাāĻ িāĻ—ুāϞি āϤাāϰা āĻŦāĻšāύ āĻ•āϰāĻ›িāϞ āĻāĻŦং āϤাāĻĻেāϰ āĻĒিāĻ ে āĻŦ⧜ āϝāύ্āϤ্āϰāĻĒাāϤিāϰ āĻŦ্āϝাāĻ— āĻোāϞাāύো āĻ›িāϞ। āϤাāĻĻেāϰāĻ•ে āĻŦেāĻļ āφāĻ•āϰ্āώāĻŖী⧟ āĻĻেāĻ–াāϚ্āĻ›িāϞ। āĻ•িāύ্āϤু āϞ্āϝāϰা āĻŽāύে āĻŽāύে āĻ­াāĻŦāϞ āϝāĻĻি āĻ“āχ āĻŽাāĻ–āύ- āĻĒাāωāϰুāϟিāϰ āϟুāĻ•āϰোāϟা āĻāĻ–āύ āϤাāϰ āĻšাāϤে āφāϰ āύা āĻĨাāĻ•āϤ āϤাāĻšāϞে āĻ­াāϞো āĻšāϤ āĻ•াāϰāĻŖ āĻ“āϟা āϰাāĻ–াāϰ āĻ•োāύো āϜা⧟āĻ—া āĻ›িāϞ āύা, āφāϰ āϏāĻŽ্āĻ­āĻŦāϤ āϏে āϏেāϟা āĻĢেāϞেāĻ“ āĻĻিāϤে āĻĒাāϰāĻŦে āύা। āϏে āĻ–ুāĻŦ āϞāϜ্āϜা āĻĒেāϞ āĻāĻŦং āϝāĻĨাāϏāĻŽ্āĻ­āĻŦ āĻ—ুāϰুāĻ—āĻŽ্āĻ­ীāϰ āϚাāϞে āĻāĻ•āĻ—ু⧟ে āĻ­āĻ™্āĻ—িāϤে āϤাāĻĻেāϰ āĻ•াāĻ›াāĻ•াāĻ›ি āĻāϏে āĻĻাঁ⧜াāϞো।







"Good morning," she said, copying her mother's voice. But that sounded so

fearfully affected that she was ashamed, and stammered like a little girl, "Oh- er-have you come is it about the marquee?"


"That's right, miss," said the tallest of the men, a lanky, freckled fellow, and he shifted his tool-bag, knocked back his straw hat and smiled down at her. "That's about it."


"āϏুāĻĒ্āϰāĻ­াāϤ", āϏে āϤাāϰ āĻŽা⧟েāϰ āĻ•āύ্āĻ āϏ্āĻŦāϰ āύāĻ•āϞ āĻ•āϰে āĻŦāϞāϞ। āĻ•িāύ্āϤু āϏ্āĻŦāϰāϟি āĻāϤāχ āϭ⧟āĻ™্āĻ•āϰ āĻļোāύাāϞো āϝে āϏে āύিāϜেāχ āϞāϜ্āϜিāϤ āĻŦোāϧ āĻ•āϰāϞ, āĻāĻŦং āĻāĻ•āϟি āĻŦাāϚ্āϚা āĻŽে⧟েāϰ āĻŽāϤāύ āĻ…āϏ্āĻĒāώ্āϟ āϏ্āĻŦāϰে āĻŦāϞāϞ, "āĻ“- āφāϚ্āĻ›া āĻ•ি āĻ“āχ āϤাঁāĻŦুāϰ āĻŦ্āϝাāĻĒাāϰে āĻāϏেāĻ›েāύ?" āφāĻĒāύাāϰা


āĻāĻĻেāϰ āĻŽাāĻে āϞāĻŽ্āĻŦা, āϞিāĻ•āϞিāĻ•ে āφāϧāĻŽā§ŸāϞা āϞোāĻ•āϟা āĻŦāϞāϞ, "āφāĻĒāύি āĻ িāĻ•āχ āϧāϰেāĻ›েāύ āĻŽিāϏ।" āĻāϰāĻĒāϰ āϏে āϤাāϰ āϝāύ্āϤ্āϰāĻĒাāϤিāϰ āĻŦ্āϝাāĻ—āϟিāϰ āϏ্āĻĨাāύ āĻĒāϰিāĻŦāϰ্āϤāύ āĻ•āϰāϞ, āĻ–ā§œেāϰ āϟুāĻĒিāϤে āϟোāĻ•া āĻĻি⧟ে āĻ“āϰ āĻĒাāύে āϤাāĻ•ি⧟ে āĻšাāϏāϞ। "āĻ“āϟাāϰ āĻŦ্āϝাāĻĒাāϰেāχ āĻāϏেāĻ›ি।"





His smile was so easy, so friendly, that Laura recovered. What nice eyes he had, small, but such a dark blue! And now she looked at the others, they were smiling too. "Cheer up, we won't bite," their smile seemed to say. How very nice workmen were! And what a beautiful morning! She mustn't mention the morning; she must be business-like. The marquee.

"Well, what about the lily-lawn? Would that do?"

āϞোāĻ•āϟাāϰ āĻšাāϏিāϟা āĻ–ুāĻŦāχ āϏāĻšāϜ āĻ“ āφāύ্āϤāϰিāĻ•āϤাāĻĒূāϰ্āĻŖ āϝা āϞাāϰাāĻ•ে āϏāĻšāϜেāχ āĻ…āĻ­িāĻ­ূāϤ āĻ•āϰāϞ। āϞোāĻ•āϟাāϰ āϚোāĻ– āĻĻুāϟো āĻ›োāϟো āĻ›োāϟো āĻ•িāύ্āϤু āĻ—াā§ āύীāϞ। āĻāĻŦাāϰ āϏে āĻ…āύ্āϝāĻĻেāϰ āĻĻিāĻ•ে āϤাāĻ•ি⧟ে āĻĻেāĻ–āϞ āϤাāϰাāĻ“ āĻšাāϏāĻ›ে। āĻ“āĻĻেāϰ āĻšাāϏি āϝেāύ āĻŦোāĻাāϤে āϚাāχāĻ›ে, "āĻĒ্āϰাāĻŖ āĻ–ুāϞে āĻšাāϏো, āφāĻŽāϰা āĻ•াāϰো āĻ•্āώāϤিāϰ āĻ•াāϰāĻŖ āĻšāĻŦ āύা।" āĻ•āϰ্āĻŽāϚাāϰীāĻ—ুāϞো āĻ•āϤ āĻ­āĻĻ্āϰ āφāϰ āφāϜāĻ•েāϰ āϏāĻ•াāϞāϟাāĻ“ āĻ•āϤ āϏুāύ্āĻĻāϰ। āĻ•িāύ্āϤু āϏāĻ•াāϞেāϰ āĻŦ্āϝাāĻĒাāϰে āĻŦāϞাāϟা āĻ িāĻ• āύ⧟, āϏে āĻ•াāϜ āύি⧟ে āĻŽাāĻĨা āĻ–াāϟাāϤে āϚা⧟। āĻŽূāϞ āĻŦ্āϝাāĻĒাāϰ āϤাāĻŦু āĻ–াāϟাāύো।

"āĻ­াāϞো āĻ•āĻĨা, āϞিāϞিāĻĢুāϞে āφāϚ্āĻ›াāĻĻিāϤ āϞāύāϟি āĻ•েāĻŽāύ āĻšā§Ÿ? āĻ“āĻ–াāύে āĻšāĻŦে āĻ•ি?"




And she pointed to the lily-lawn with the hand that didn't hold the bread-and- butter. They turned, they stared in the direction. A little fat chap thrust out his under-lip, and the tall fellow frowned

āφāϰ āϤাāϰ āϝে āĻšাāϤে āϰুāϟি āĻŽাāĻ–āύ āύেāχ, āϏেāχ āĻšাāϤ āϤুāϞে āϏে āϜা⧟āĻ—াāϟা āύিāϰ্āĻĻেāĻļ āĻ•āϰāϞ। āϤাāϰা āϘুāϰে āϤাāĻ•াāϞো āϏেāχ āĻĻিāĻ•ে। āĻ›োāϟো āĻāĻ•āϟা āĻŽোāϟা āĻŽāϤো āĻ›েāϞে āĻ োঁāϟāϟা āĻŦাāχāϰেāϰ āĻĻিāĻ•ে āĻŦাāϰ āĻ•āϰে āĻ•িāĻ›ু āĻāĻ•āϟা āĻŦāϞাāϰ āϚেāώ্āϟা āĻ•āϰāϞ āφāϰ āϞāĻŽ্āĻŦা āϞোāĻ•āϟা āĻ­্āϰু āĻ•োঁāϚāĻ•াāϞ।

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I don't fancy it," said he. "Not conspicuous enough. You see, with a thing like a marquee," and he turned to Laura in his easy way, "you want to put it somewhere where it'll give you a bang slap in the eye, if you follow me."

"āφāĻŽাāϰ āĻ•াāĻ›ে āĻāϟা āφāĻ•āώāϰ্āĻŖী⧟ āĻŽāύে āĻšā§Ÿ āύা," āϏে āĻŦāϞāϞ, "āϤাঁāĻŦুāϰ āĻĒাāĻļে āĻāϟা āĻ–ুāĻŦ āĻāĻ•āϟা āĻŽাāύাāύāϏāχ āĻšāĻŦে āύা" āĻŦāϞেāχ āϞোāĻ•āϟা āϤাāϰ āϏ্āĻŦāĻ­াāĻŦāϏুāϞāĻ­ āĻ­āĻ™্āĻ—িāϤে āϞ্āϝāϰাāϰ āĻĻিāĻ•ে āϤাāĻ•াāϞ। "āφāĻĒāύি āĻāĻŽāύ āĻ•োāύো āϜা⧟āĻ—া⧟ āĻāϟা āĻ–াāϟাāϤে āϚাāχāĻŦেāύ āϝেāĻ–াāύে āφāĻĒāύাāϰ āϚোāĻ–ে āĻāϟা āĻĢুāϟে āωāĻ āĻŦে। āφāĻĒāύি āφāĻŽাāĻ•ে āĻ…āύুāϏāϰāĻŖ āĻ•āϰāϤে āĻĒাāϰেāύ।"

"



Laura's upbringing made her wonder for a moment whether it was quite respectful of a workman to talk to her of bangs slap in the eye. But she did quite follow him.

āϞ্āϝāϰাāϰ āĻĒাāϰিāĻŦাāϰিāĻ• āĻĒāϰিāĻŦেāĻļে āĻŦে⧜ে āĻ“āĻ াāϰ āĻļিāĻ•্āώা āϤাāĻ•ে āĻŦিāϏ্āĻŽিāϤ āĻ•āϰāϞ āĻāχ āĻ­েāĻŦে āϝে āĻāĻ•āϜāύ āĻ•āϰ্āĻŽāϚাāϰী āϤাāĻ•ে āϚোāĻ–েāϰ āĻŽোāϚ⧜ে āχāĻļাāϰা āĻĻি⧟ে āĻ•āĻĨা āĻŦāϞāϞ। āĻ•িāύ্āϤু, āϏে āύিঃāĻļāĻŦ্āĻĻে āϤাāĻ•ে āĻ…āύুāϏāϰāĻŖ āĻ•āϰāϞ।




A corner of the tennis-court," she suggested. "But the band's going to be in one corner.

"āĻāϟা āϤো āϟেāύিāϏ āĻ•োāϰ্āϟেāϰ āĻāĻ• āĻ•োāĻŖা⧟āĻ“ āĻšāϤে āĻĒাāϰে", āϏে āĻĒāϰাāĻŽāϰ্āĻļ āĻĻিāϞ। "āĻ•িāύ্āϤু āĻāĻ•āϧাāϰে āϤো āφāĻŦাāϰ āĻŦাāϜāύাāĻŦাāĻĻāĻ•েāϰা āĻŦāϏāĻŦে।"

"





"H'm, going to have a band, are you?" said another of the workmen. He was pale. He had a haggard look as his dark eyes scanned the tennis-court. What was he thinking?

"āĻšুāĻŽ, āϤাāĻšāϞে āφāĻĒāύি āĻŦাāϜāύাāϰ āĻŦ্āϝāĻŦāϏ্āĻĨাāĻ“ āĻ•āϰেāĻ›েāύ āĻĻেāĻ–āĻ›ি" āφāϰেāĻ•āϜāύ - āĻ•āϰ্āĻŽāϚাāϰী āĻŦāϞāϞ। āϤাāĻ•ে āĻ–ুāĻŦ āĻŦিāĻŦāϰ্āĻŖ āĻĻেāĻ–াāϚ্āĻ›িāϞ। āϜীāϰ্āĻŖāĻ•া⧟ āϞোāĻ•āϟি āϤাāϰ āĻ•াāϞো āϚোāĻ– āĻĻুāϟি āĻĻি⧟ে āϟেāύিāϏ āĻ•োāϰ্āϟāϟি āĻ–ুঁāϟি⧟ে āĻĻেāĻ–āϤে āĻĨাāĻ•āϞ। āĻ•ি āĻ­াāĻŦāĻ›িāϞ āϏে?




"Only a very small band," said Laura gently. Perhaps he wouldn't mind so much if the band was quite small. But the tall fellow interrupted.

"āĻ–ুāĻŦ āĻ›োāϟ্āϟ āĻŦাāϜāύাāĻŦাāĻĻāĻ•েāϰ āĻĻāϞ" āϞ্āϝāϰা āύāĻŽ্āϰāĻ­াāĻŦে āĻŦāϞāϞ। āϝāĻĻিāĻ“ āĻŦ্āϝাāύ্āĻĄāϟি āĻ›োāϟ āĻšāϞে āϤাāϰ āĻ•িāĻ›ু āϝা⧟ āφāϏāĻŦে āύা। āĻ•িāύ্āϤু āϞāĻŽ্āĻŦা āϞোāĻ•āϟি āϤাāϰ (āϞ্āϝāϰাāϰ) āĻ•āĻĨাāϰ āĻŽāϧ্āϝে āĻ•āĻĨা āĻŦāϞāϞ।







Look here, miss, that's the place. Against those trees. Over there. That'll do fine." Against the karakas. Then the karaka-trees would be hidden. And they were so lovely, with their broad, gleaming leaves, and their clusters of yellow fruit. They were like trees you imagined growing on a desert island, proud, solitary, lifting their leaves and fruits to the sun in a kind of silent splendour. Must they be hidden by a marquee?

"āĻāĻĻিāĻ•ে āϤাāĻ•াāύ, āĻŽিāϏ, āĻ“āχ āϜা⧟āĻ—াāϟা āĻ“āĻ–াāύেāχ āĻ িāĻ•āĻ াāĻ• āĻšāĻŦে।" āĻ“āχ āĻ—াāĻ›āĻ—ুāϞিāϰ āĻ•াāĻ›ে। āĻ“āχāĻ–াāύে।

āĻ•াāϰাāĻ•া āĻ—াāĻ› āĻ—ুāϞোāϰ āĻ•াāĻ›ে,āϤাāĻšāϞে āφāĻŦাāϰ āĻ•াāϰাāĻ•া āĻ—াāĻ› āĻ—ুāϞো āĻĸেāĻ•ে āϝাāĻŦে।āĻ—াāĻ›āĻ—ুāϞি āĻ•ি āϏুāύ্āĻĻāϰ, āĻŦ⧜ āĻŦ⧜ āϚāĻ•āϚāĻ•ে āĻĒাāϤা āφāϰ āĻĨোāĻ•া āĻĨোāĻ•া āĻšāϞুāĻĻ āĻĢāϞ āĻ­āϰ্āϤি। āĻ িāĻ• āϝেāύ āĻŽāϰুāĻ­ূāĻŽিāϰ āĻŽাāĻে āĻŦে⧜ে āĻ“āĻ া āĻāĻ•াāĻ•ী āĻ—āϰ্āĻŦিāϤ āĻāĻ•āϟি āĻ•াāϞ্āĻĒāύিāĻ• āĻ—াāĻ› āϝে āϤাāϰ āĻĒাāϤা āφāϰ āĻĢāϞāĻ—ুāϞি āϏূāϰ্āϝেāϰ āĻĒাāύে āĻŽেāϞে āϧāϰে। āϏাāĻŽাāύ্āϝ āĻāĻ•āϟা āϤাঁāĻŦুāϰ āĻ•াāϰāĻŖে āϏেāĻ—ুāϞিāĻ•ে āĻĸাāĻ•া āĻ•ি āĻĻিāϤেāχ āĻšāĻŦে?







They must. Already the men had shouldered their staves and were making for the place. Only the tall fellow was left. He bent down, pinched a sprig of lavender, put his thumb and forefinger to his nose and snuffed up the smell. 

āĻĸাāĻ•া āĻĒ⧜āĻŦেāχ। āχāϤিāĻŽāϧ্āϝেāχ āϞোāĻ•āĻ—ুāϞি āϤাāĻĻেāϰ āĻ•াঁāϧ āĻĨেāĻ•ে āϞাāĻ িāĻ—ুāϞি āύাāĻŽি⧟ে āϜা⧟āĻ—াāϟা āϤৈāϰি āĻ•āϰāϤে āϞেāĻ—ে āĻĒ⧜েāĻ›ে। āĻļুāϧুāĻŽাāϤ্āϰ āϞāĻŽ্āĻŦা āϞোāĻ•āϟি āĻŦাāĻĻে। āϏে āύীāϚু āĻšāϞ, āϞ্āϝাāĻ­েāύ্āĻĄাāϰেāϰ āĻĨেāĻ•ে āĻāĻ•āϟু āĻĢেঁāĻ•ā§œি āĻ›ি⧜āϞ, āφāϰ āϤাāϰ āĻĻুāϟি āφāĻ™ুāϞ āύাāĻ•েāϰ āϏাāĻŽāύে āϧāϰāϞ āĻ—āύ্āϧ āύিāϤে।

 





When Laura saw that gesture she forgot all about the karakas in her wonder at him caring for things like that-caring for the smell of lavender. How many men that she knew would have done such a thing? Oh, how extraordinarily nice workmen were, she thought.

āϞ্āϝাāĻ­েāύ্āĻĄাāϰেāϰ āĻ—āύ্āϧ āύেāĻ“ā§Ÿাāϰ āϜāύ্āϝ āϞোāĻ•āϟিāϰ āĻ­āĻ™্āĻ—িāĻŽা āĻĻেāĻ–ে āϞ্āϝāϰা āĻ•াāϰাāĻ•া āĻ—াāĻ›āĻ—ুāϞিāϰ āĻ•āĻĨা āĻ­ুāϞে āĻ—ি⧟ে āĻŦিāϏ্āĻŽā§Ÿেāϰ āϏāĻ™্āĻ—ে āĻ­াāĻŦāϞ āϏাāĻŽাāύ্āϝ āĻ—āύ্āϧ, āϞ্āϝাāĻ­েāύ্āĻĄাāϰেāϰ āĻ—āύ্āϧ āύেāĻ“ā§Ÿাāϰ āĻĒ্āϰāϤিāĻ“ āϞোāĻ•āϟি āĻ•āϤ āϝāϤ্āύāĻŦাāύ।

āϤাāϰ āϚেāύাāϜাāύা āĻ•āϤāϜāύ āĻŽাāύুāώ āĻāϰāĻ•āĻŽ āĻāĻ•āϟা āĻ•াāϜ āĻ•āϰāĻŦে? āĻāχ āĻ•āϰ্āĻŽāϜীāĻŦি āĻŽাāύুāώāĻ—ুāϞি āĻ•āϤāχ āύা āϏāĻšāϜ, āϏāϰāϞ āϏে āĻ­াāĻŦāϞ। 



Why couldn't she have workmen for her friends rather than the silly boys she danced with and who came to Sunday night supper? She would get on much better with men like these.

āϏে āĻ­াāĻŦāϞ, āĻ•েāύ āϏে āĻāχāϏāĻŦ āĻ•āϰ্āĻŽāϜীāĻŦি āĻŽাāύুāώেāϰ āϏাāĻĨে āĻŦāύ্āϧুāϤ্āĻŦ āύা āĻ•āϰে āĻŽূāϰ্āĻ– āĻ›েāϞেāĻ—ুāϞিāϰ āϏাāĻĨে āύাāϚে āϝাāϰা āϰāĻŦিāĻŦাāϰ āύৈāĻļāĻ­োāϜে āφāĻŽāύ্āϤ্āϰিāϤ āĻšā§Ÿে āĻĨাāĻ•ে? āĻāχ āĻ•āϰ্āĻŽāϜীāĻŦি āĻŽাāύুāώāĻ—ুāϞোāϰ āϏāĻ™্āĻ—ে āϏে āĻ…āύেāĻ• āĻ–োāϞাāĻŽেāϞাāĻ­াāĻŦে āĻŽিāĻļāϤে āĻĒাāϰāĻŦে।








It's all the fault, she decided, as the tall fellow drew something on the back of an envelope, something that was to be looped up or left to hang, of these absurd class distinctions. Well, for her part, she didn't feel them. Not a bit, not an atom. ...And now there came the chock-chock of wooden hammers.

āĻāϟা āϤাāϰāχ āĻ­ুāϞ, āϏে āĻ­াāĻŦāϞ, āϞāĻŽ্āĻŦা āϞোāĻ•āϟি āϏেāχ āϏāĻŽā§Ÿ āĻāĻ•āϟি āĻ–াāĻŽেāϰ āĻĒিāĻ›āύে āĻ•িāĻ›ু āĻāĻ•āϟা āφঁāĻ•āϞ, āĻ•িāĻ›ু āĻāĻ•āϟা āϝেāϟা āĻĢাঁāϏ āĻĻি⧟ে āĻুāϞি⧟ে āϰাāĻ–া āϝা⧟, āĻ…āϝৌāĻ•্āϤিāĻ• āĻļ্āϰেāĻŖীāĻŦৈāώāĻŽ্āϝেāϰ āψāĻ™্āĻ—িāϤāĻĒূāϰ্āĻŖ āĻ•িāĻ›ু। āϤাāϰ (āϞ্āϝāϰাāϰ) āĻ•াāĻ›ে āĻāϏāĻŦেāϰ āĻ•োāύো āĻ…āϰ্āĻĨāχ āύেāχ। āĻāĻ• āĻĢোঁāϟাāĻ“ āύ⧟, āĻ…āĻŖুāĻĒāϰিāĻŽাāĻŖāĻ“ āύ⧟... āφāϰ āϏেāχāϏāĻ™্āĻ—ে āĻ•াāĻ েāϰ āĻšাāϤু⧜িāϰ āĻ āĻ•āĻ āĻ• āφāĻ“ā§ŸাāϜ āĻ­েāϏে āĻāϞো।






Someone whistled, someone sang out, "Are you right there, matey?" "Matey!" The friendliness of it, the-the-Just to prove how happy she was, just to show the tall fellow how at home she felt, and how she despised stupid conventions, Laura took a big bite of her bread-and-butter as she stared at the little drawing. She felt just like a work-girl.

 āĻ•েāω āĻāĻ•āϜāύ āĻļিāϏ āĻĻি⧟ে āωāĻ āϞ, āĻ•েāω āĻāĻ•āϜāύ āϏুāϰ āĻ•āϰে āĻŦāϞে āωāĻ āϞ, "āĻŽ্āϝাāϟি, āĻ“āĻ–াāύে āφāĻ›ো āĻ•ি?" "āĻŽ্āϝাāϟি।" āĻ–ুāĻŦāχ āĻŦāύ্āϧুāϤ্āĻŦāĻĒূāϰ্āĻŖ āϏেāχ āϏ্āĻŦāϰ, āϏেāχ-āϏেāχ āĻ িāĻ• āϝেāύ āĻāϟা āĻĒ্āϰāĻŽাāĻŖ āĻ•āϰাāϰ āϜāύ্āϝ āϝে āϏে (āϞ্āϝāϰা) āĻ–ুāĻļিāϤে āĻĄāĻ—āĻŽāĻ—, āϞāĻŽ্āĻŦা āϞোāĻ•āϟিāĻ•ে āĻŦোāĻাāύোāϰ āϜāύ্āϝ āϝে āϏে āĻ–ুāĻŦāχ āϏ্āĻŦাāϚ্āĻ›āύ্āĻĻ্āϝে āφāĻ›ে, āĻāĻŦং āĻāϟা āĻĻেāĻ–াāύোāϰ āϜāύ্āϝ āϝে āϏে (āϞ্āϝāϰা) āĻĒ্āϰāϚāϞিāϤ āϏংāϏ্āĻ•াāϰāĻ—ুāϞিāĻ•ে āĻ•āϤāϟা āĻ…āĻŦāϜ্āĻžা āĻ•āϰে, āϞ্āϝāϰা āϤাāϰ āĻŽাāĻ–āύ āĻŽাāĻ–াāύো āϰুāϟিāϰ āϟুāĻ•āϰোāϟা⧟ āϞāĻŽ্āĻŦা āĻ•াāĻŽā§œ āĻĻিāϞ āφāϰ āĻ›োāϟ্āϟ āφঁāĻ•াāϟিāϰ āĻĻিāĻ•ে āĻ•্āώāĻŖিāĻ• āϤাāĻ•াāϞো। āϏে āĻ…āύুāĻ­āĻŦ āĻ•āϰāϞ āϝে āϏে āĻ–ুāĻŦāχ āĻŦ্āϝāϏ্āϤ āĻŽāĻšিāϞা। "






Laura, Laura, where are you? Telephone, Laura!" a voice cried from the house. "Coming!" Away she skimmed, over the lawn, up the path, up the steps, across the veranda, and into the porch. In the hall her father and Laurie were brushing their hats ready to go to the office.

āϞ্āϝāϰা, āϞ্āϝāϰা, āĻ•োāĻĨা⧟ āϤুāĻŽি? āϟেāϞিāĻĢোāύ, āϞ্āϝāϰা।" āĻŦা⧜িāϰ āĻ­িāϤāϰ āĻĨেāĻ•ে āωঁāϚু āĻ—āϞাāϰ āϚিā§ŽāĻ•াāϰ āĻļোāύা āĻ—েāϞ।

"āφāϏāĻ›ি।" āϏে āϚিā§ŽāĻ•াāϰ āĻ•āϰāϞ, āϏে āϞāύ āĻĻি⧟ে āϧীāϰে āϏুāϏ্āĻĨে āĻšেঁāϟে āĻĒāĻĨে āωāĻ ে, āϏিঁ⧜ি āĻ­েāĻ™ে āĻŦাāϰাāύ্āĻĻা āĻĒাāϰ āĻšā§Ÿে āĻ—া⧜ি āĻŦাāϰাāύ্āĻĻা⧟ āωāĻ āϞ। āĻšāϞāϘāϰে āϤাāϰ āĻŦাāĻŦা āĻāĻŦং āϞ্āϝāϰি āϤāĻ–āύ āĻŦ্āϰাāĻļ āĻĻি⧟ে āϤাāĻĻেāϰ āϟুāĻĒিāĻ—ুāϞি āĻে⧜ে āĻĒāϰিāώ্āĻ•াāϰ āĻ•āϰāĻ›িāϞেāύ āĻ…āĻĢিāϏে āϝাāĻŦাāϰ āϜāύ্āϝ āϤৈāϰি āĻšā§Ÿে।




"I say, Laura," said Laurie very fast, "you might just give a squiz at my coat before this afternoon. See if it wants pressing." "I will," said she. Suddenly she couldn't stop herself. She ran at Laurie and gave him a small, quick squeeze. "Oh, I do love parties, don't you?" gasped Laura

"āφāĻŽি āĻŦāϞāĻ›ি, āϞাāϰা," āϞ্āϝāϰি āĻĻ্āϰুāϤ āĻŦāϞāϞ, "āϤুāĻŽি āĻŦিāĻ•াāϞেāϰ āφāĻ—ে āφāĻŽাāϰ āĻ•োāϟāϟা āĻāĻ•āϟু āĻŽুāϚ⧜ে āĻĻেāĻ–āϤে āĻĒাāϰো। āĻĻেāĻ–ো, āχāϏ্āϤিāϰি āĻ•āϰাāϰ āĻĒ্āϰ⧟োāϜāύ āφāĻ›ে āĻ•িāύা।" "āĻĻেāĻ–āĻŦ", āϏে āĻŦāϞāϞ। āφāϰ āύিāϜেāĻ•ে āϰোāϧ āĻ•āϰāϤে āύা āĻĒেāϰে āĻšāĻ াā§Ž āĻ•āϰে āĻ—ি⧟ে āϞ্āϝāϰিāĻ•ে āφāϞিāĻ™্āĻ—āύ āĻ•āϰāϞ। "āĻ“āĻš, āĻĒাāϰ্āϟি āĻ•āϰāϤে āφāĻŽাāϰ āĻ•ি āĻ­াāϞোāχ āύা āϞাāĻ—ে, āϤোāĻŽাāϰ āϞাāĻ—ে āύা?" āĻāĻ• āύিঃāĻļ্āĻŦাāϏে āϞ্āϝāϰা āĻŦāϞāϞ।



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"Ra-ther," said Laurie's warm, boyish voice, and he squeezed his sister too, and gave her a gentle push. "Dash off to the telephone, old girl."


The telephone. "Yes, yes; oh yes. Kitty? Good morning, dear. Come to lunch?


Do, dear. Delighted of course. It will only be a very scratch meal-just the sandwich


crusts and broken meringue-shells and what's left over. Yes, isn't it a perfect


morning? Your white? Oh, I certainly should. One moment-hold the line.


Mother's calling." And Laura sat back. "What, mother? Can't hear."


Mrs. Sheridan's voice floated down the stairs. "Tell her to wear that sweet hat she had on last Sunday."







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