To me it is wonderful and tragic and
touching. If you could see the Court, if you could see the village,
if you could see the church, if you could see the people, all quietly
disintegrating, and so dearly perfect in their way that if one knew
absolutely that nothing could be done to save them, one could only stand
still and catch one's breath and burst into tears. The church has stood
since the Conquest, and, as it still stands, grey and fine, with its
mass of square tower, and despite the state of its roof, is not yet
given wholly to the winds and weather, it will, no doubt, stand a few
centuries longer. The Court, however, cannot long remain a possible
habitation, if it is not given a new lease of life. I do not mean that
it will crumble to-morrow, or the day after, but we should not think
it habitable now, even while we should admit that nothing could be more
delightful to look at. The cottages in the village are already, many of
them, amazing, when regarded as the dwellings of human beings. How long
ago the cottagers gave up expecting that anything in particular would be
done for them, I do not know. I am impressed by the fact that they are
an unexpecting people. Their calm non-expectancy fills me with interest.
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