What it most resembles is three tin tabernacles put together
to form three sides of a square, the fourth and empty side of which
is by far the most beautiful, because it consists of a glorious
view over a foreground of woods, a middle-distance of park land,
and on the horizon the Hampshire downs.
I am an authority on this view, because I had to gaze at it for
about a quarter of an hour while I was waiting for somebody to open
the Abbey door. At last the porter, Brother Lawrence, after taking
a good look at me through the grill, demanded what I wanted. When I
said that I wanted to be a monk, he looked very alarmed and hurried
away, leaving me to gaze at that view for another ten minutes. He
came back at last and let me in, informing me in a somewhat
adenoidish voice that the Reverend Brother was busy in the garden
and asking me to wait until he came in. Brother Lawrence has a
large, pock-marked face, and while he is talking to anybody he
stands with his right hand in his left sleeve and his left hand in
his right sleeve like a Chinese mandarin or an old washer-woman
with her arms folded under her apron. You must make the most of my
descriptions in this letter, because if I am accepted as a
probationer I shan't be able to indulge in any more personalities
about my brethren.
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