CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Stricken Drum
T
he
sunny afternoon air was warm and pleasant as Hal leant over the half-door of the mill and gazed with thoughtful unseeing eyes into the clear water of the race, shooting out over the green stones towards the narrow bridge which marked the end of the Fitton territory. Behind him the giant wheel was turning slowly and its gentle creak could be heard behind the whine of Amanda’s dynamo.
On the cobbled yard in front of him stood a heap of packing cases, deposited there not half an hour before by a lorry from Ipswich. Hal had so far demeaned himself as to wander over and inspect the labels. They bore the name of a big electrical firm, and he had returned lowering to his position to await Amanda.
He was contemplating the complete subjection of Amanda,
