Twenty Five: Far From The Madding Crowd: Thomas Hardy

Mannerisms together with the ups and downs of life had combined to shape Seargent Troy as an exceptional being.
For him memories were an encumbrance; and anticipations an overabundance. He cared what was before his eyes; and that made him vulnerable to the present. Time was a transient flash of the eye now and then; and it projected past and future, now and then.  Past was pathetic and precaution against future was foreign to him. Past was yesterday and future tomorrow, not a day after. 

Since he had no expectation he was never disappointed. To set against this negative gains there were positive losses from certain narrowing of higher tastes.  He was truthful to men; but to women he lied left and right. ------------------------------------------------------------
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Two weeks after the shearing.
Bathsheba was relieved because of the absence of Boldwood.  She was in her hayfield. Gnarled men and flexous women, covered with nankeen, which hung in curtain upon their shoulders.  Jan Coggan and Mark Clark were mowing in a meadow, Clark humming a tune to the strokes of his scythe.  They were already loading the hay, the women raking it into cocks and windrows, and the men tossing it upon the wagon.

From behind the wagon a bright scarlet spot emerged, and went on loading unconcernedly with the rest.
It was seargent Troy who had come haymaking for pleasure.  Troy saw Bathsheba as she entered, and sticking his pitchfork into the ground, he took his walking-cane and came forward to her.  Bathsheba blushed: she was angry and embarassed.

END OF THE CHAPTER 
                  

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