Enlightened - (EPUB全文下载)

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Dedication
For my boys.
Chapter Nine
The clattering of horses and carriages in the inn’s courtyard began before the clock struck five the next morning. Groaning, David pulled a pillow over his face to shut out the noise, but it was no good. Soon enough, there were maidservants going up and down stairs and guests moving around, and David gave up all hope of any further rest.
He wished he at least had Murdo with him. They could have spent an hour or two together in bed. As it was, David found himself indulging in something he’d had no need to resort to for some time, bringing himself to a perfunctory climax with his own hand.
He got up straight after, washing and dressing without so much as looking in the mirror, tucking his overlong hair behind his ears and tying his cravat in its usual slapdash knot.
Murdo was in the breakfast parlour when he got downstairs, looking as tired and grumpy as David felt, albeit ten times as elegant. He grunted at David over his plate of kippers and suggested they make an earlier start than planned, given they were up, a suggestion David was only too happy to agree to.
The final leg of their journey was actually quite pleasant. They were only a few hours from London, and after a hearty breakfast and near enough a pot of coffee each, they were well fed and alert—for the time being, anyway, till tiredness caught up with them. By shortly after noon, Murdo’s carriage was pulling up outside Murdo’s London townhouse on Curzon Street.
David climbed out of the carriage, using his cane to avoid putting too much strain on his bad leg, ignoring Murdo’s approving smile. Once he stood on the pavement, he gazed around, fascinated. The townhouses that lined the street were remarkably similar to those at home, with the same classical facades, but here they varied in height, some of them a full storey or more higher than their neighbours.
The colour palette of these buildings varied too, brown brick and bright-white stucco. Very different from the ubiquitous sandstone which gave Edinburgh its characteristically gloomy beauty. It struck David, as he looked about him, that the sober townhouses of his home city were more elegant than this—collectively, at least. The unified lines of Edinburgh’s New Town, the sweeping crescents and classical perfection, were incomparable. Yet these houses, too high, too grand, spoke of something different, something entirely less collective. No New Town here. Here, they built what they wanted, where they wanted it, ............

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