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.In fact, at his last school, he had not made friends at all.His father’s enthusiasm for the island was infuriating.The more boring Davy found it to be, the more his father would trumpet the discovery of some new bay or hill or patch of peat bog.And if the days were dull, then the nights were interminable.The island was further north than Edinburgh and so the summer days seemed to stretch on for ever, as a strange twilight lit the land at ten o’clock at night.Davy had difficulty sleeping and resented the fact that there was this gift of extra daylight hours without the least use to put it to.And even if there had been anything to amuse him, he wouldn’t have been given the opportunity to make use of it, because his father still insisted on enforcing his bedtime.Many a night Davy would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, staring at the curtained window and the glow that lit its floral pattern, seething with resentment, fuming with anger at his father for bringing them to this godforsaken place.It was on one such twilit night that Davy got up from his bed, unable to sleep, and went to the window.Pulling back the curtains, he looked out over the bay, the sea a strange mother-of-pearl hue, more like burnished metal than water.There was something so unearthly about that daylight that was not quite daylight; it gave everything an ominous look.His attention moved to the Clach Crotach – the Hunchback Stone – and its forbidden dunes.An idea suddenly occurred to Davy and he smiled.Why had he not thought of it before?gThe next day could not have been more different to the eerie stillness of the previous night.The Atlantic Ocean was wild and flecked with white foam.Brooding clouds capped the far hills and a fierce wind whistled round the eaves of the house and bullied the few twisted trees that stood about it.Davy set off along the track as soon as breakfast was over and his father had left for the fisheries.Dr Fraser had grinned happily when Davy had told him that he intended to go for a run.At last the boy seems to be accepting this place a little, he thought.At last he seems to have stopped moping about.Davy walked a short way up the track before running away from the house and away from town and past the Hunchback Stone.After about a mile he turned off on to a narrow path that led down to the shore.He ran between two dunes, his feet sinking in the soft sand, the dune grass whistling in the wind.He ran on to the open white sand that stretched out in a kind of dreamlike blankness in all directions, and on, crossing the tideline, shells and dried seaweed crunching and crackling underfoot, until he reached the water’s edge.The sea roared and growled deafeningly as he stood hands on hips, doubled over, panting.The cloud was so low it moved across the bay like a sea fret, shrouding the far hills and mountains of the mainland, so visible on clear days.This concealing veil emboldened Davy.He was in an enclosed world, shielded by the mist and by the raucous music of the weather.No one could see or hear him, that was for sure.He approached the Crotach Stone, though something about the strange horizonless view and the swirling mist made it seem as though the Stone approached him, looming darkly.Davy looked at the offerings at the foot of the Stone: the offerings he was about to steal.There was nothing he really wanted.The aim was to cause as much offence to these awful people – to Mrs McLeod and the other ‘auld folk’ of this wretched place – as he could.It would be obvious who had taken them.No one else on that pathetic island would ever have had the gumption to do it.They would know it was Davy and the shame and scandal would be too great to bear.His father would never be able to stay.They would be shunned and spurned.They would be lucky to leave with their lives once old shotgun-wielding Murdo heard about it.But at least they would leave, and that was all Davy cared about.He pushed his hand into the cleft.He rooted around and suddenly winced, pulling his hand free.There was a gash in his forefinger.It was deep and opened horribly as he looked at it, the slippery pink workings under his ripped skin all too visible.Davy felt queasy and reached out to hold the Stone for support.It was surprisingly warm to the touch.Blood dripped in great ruby drops, falling on to the cleft rock and the lace handkerchief and the candlestick and the carving knife deep down that had given him the wound [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.In fact, at his last school, he had not made friends at all.His father’s enthusiasm for the island was infuriating.The more boring Davy found it to be, the more his father would trumpet the discovery of some new bay or hill or patch of peat bog.And if the days were dull, then the nights were interminable.The island was further north than Edinburgh and so the summer days seemed to stretch on for ever, as a strange twilight lit the land at ten o’clock at night.Davy had difficulty sleeping and resented the fact that there was this gift of extra daylight hours without the least use to put it to.And even if there had been anything to amuse him, he wouldn’t have been given the opportunity to make use of it, because his father still insisted on enforcing his bedtime.Many a night Davy would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, staring at the curtained window and the glow that lit its floral pattern, seething with resentment, fuming with anger at his father for bringing them to this godforsaken place.It was on one such twilit night that Davy got up from his bed, unable to sleep, and went to the window.Pulling back the curtains, he looked out over the bay, the sea a strange mother-of-pearl hue, more like burnished metal than water.There was something so unearthly about that daylight that was not quite daylight; it gave everything an ominous look.His attention moved to the Clach Crotach – the Hunchback Stone – and its forbidden dunes.An idea suddenly occurred to Davy and he smiled.Why had he not thought of it before?gThe next day could not have been more different to the eerie stillness of the previous night.The Atlantic Ocean was wild and flecked with white foam.Brooding clouds capped the far hills and a fierce wind whistled round the eaves of the house and bullied the few twisted trees that stood about it.Davy set off along the track as soon as breakfast was over and his father had left for the fisheries.Dr Fraser had grinned happily when Davy had told him that he intended to go for a run.At last the boy seems to be accepting this place a little, he thought.At last he seems to have stopped moping about.Davy walked a short way up the track before running away from the house and away from town and past the Hunchback Stone.After about a mile he turned off on to a narrow path that led down to the shore.He ran between two dunes, his feet sinking in the soft sand, the dune grass whistling in the wind.He ran on to the open white sand that stretched out in a kind of dreamlike blankness in all directions, and on, crossing the tideline, shells and dried seaweed crunching and crackling underfoot, until he reached the water’s edge.The sea roared and growled deafeningly as he stood hands on hips, doubled over, panting.The cloud was so low it moved across the bay like a sea fret, shrouding the far hills and mountains of the mainland, so visible on clear days.This concealing veil emboldened Davy.He was in an enclosed world, shielded by the mist and by the raucous music of the weather.No one could see or hear him, that was for sure.He approached the Crotach Stone, though something about the strange horizonless view and the swirling mist made it seem as though the Stone approached him, looming darkly.Davy looked at the offerings at the foot of the Stone: the offerings he was about to steal.There was nothing he really wanted.The aim was to cause as much offence to these awful people – to Mrs McLeod and the other ‘auld folk’ of this wretched place – as he could.It would be obvious who had taken them.No one else on that pathetic island would ever have had the gumption to do it.They would know it was Davy and the shame and scandal would be too great to bear.His father would never be able to stay.They would be shunned and spurned.They would be lucky to leave with their lives once old shotgun-wielding Murdo heard about it.But at least they would leave, and that was all Davy cared about.He pushed his hand into the cleft.He rooted around and suddenly winced, pulling his hand free.There was a gash in his forefinger.It was deep and opened horribly as he looked at it, the slippery pink workings under his ripped skin all too visible.Davy felt queasy and reached out to hold the Stone for support.It was surprisingly warm to the touch.Blood dripped in great ruby drops, falling on to the cleft rock and the lace handkerchief and the candlestick and the carving knife deep down that had given him the wound [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]