Noon
And there 's your old woman , her red handkerchief , and what your dealer will probably call ` the human interest , ' all complete . Squirt the edges of your foliage in with a blow-pipe . Throw a cup of tea over the whole , and there 's your haze . Call it ` The Golden Road , ' or ` The Bath of Sunlight , ' or ` Quiet Noon . ' Then you 'll probably get a criticism beginning , ` Few indeed have more intangibly detained upon canvas so poetic a quality of sentiment as this sterling landscapist , who in Number 136 has most ethereally expressed the profound silence of evening on an English moor . The solemn hush , the brooding quiet , the homeward ploughman -- ' '' He was interrupted by an outrageous uproar , the grisly scream of a siren and the cannonade of a powerful exhaust , as a great white touring-car swung round us from behind at a speed that sickened me to see , and , snorting thunder , passed us `` as if we had been standing still . '' It hurtled like a comet down the curve and we were instantly choking in its swirling tail of dust .