[A Laodicean by Thomas Hardy]@TWC D-Link bookA Laodicean BOOK THE FIRST 25/190
In spite of the habitable and more modern wing, neglect and decay had set their mark upon the outworks of the pile, unfitting them for a more positive light than that of the present hour. He walked up to a modern arch spanning the ditch--now dry and green--over which the drawbridge once had swung.
The large door under the porter's archway was closed and locked.
While standing here the singing of the wire, which for the last few minutes he had quite forgotten, again struck upon his ear, and retreating to a convenient place he observed its final course: from the poles amid the trees it leaped across the moat, over the girdling wall, and thence by a tremendous stretch towards the keep where, to judge by sound, it vanished through an arrow-slit into the interior.
This fossil of feudalism, then, was the journey's-end of the wire, and not the village of Sleeping-Green. There was a certain unexpectedness in the fact that the hoary memorial of a stolid antagonism to the interchange of ideas, the monument of hard distinctions in blood and race, of deadly mistrust of one's neighbour in spite of the Church's teaching, and of a sublime unconsciousness of any other force than a brute one, should be the goal of a machine which beyond everything may be said to symbolize cosmopolitan views and the intellectual and moral kinship of all mankind.
In that light the little buzzing wire had a far finer significance to the student Somerset than the vast walls which neighboured it.
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