chivalry by neil gaiman meaning

Mrs. Whitaker shook her head. Galaad had a cut on his cheek, and he held one arm a little stiffly.

Mrs. Whitaker took a jug of her homemade lemonade from the fridge and sent Galaad outside to pick a sprig of mint.

It’s just right, between the dog and the photograph of my Henry.”, “Is it gold you need? Mrs. Greenberg sniffed.

“You shouldn’t offer things like that to old ladies. “And, last of all, lady,” said Galaad, “I have brought you this.”. On the bookshelf Mrs. Whitaker found a new Mills & Boon novel—Her Majestic Passion—although she hadn’t yet finished the two she had bought on her last visit. It looked a little like a flattened, elongated teapot. We'll take a look right away. Serenity, that was the word for it; she felt serene. Kibin does not guarantee the accuracy, timeliness, or completeness of the essays in the library; essay content should not be construed as advice. “Oh. After the service, she thought about mentioning to him that she had the Holy Grail in her front parlor, but decided against it. She looked at the Philosopher’s Stone, and the Egg of the Phoenix, and the Apple of Life.

“I rather like it there. It was an apple, apparently carved from a single ruby, on an amber stem. It wasn’t a bad likeness.

There were words and symbols traced elegantly along the length of the blade. There was a cough behind her. It was about the size of a cricket ball.

Then she went next door to the butcher’s and bought herself a nice piece of liver. Tch. Today it was Mrs. Greenberg’s turn to visit Mrs. Whitaker. One of the older girls stroked the horse’s nose. Then she went up on tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. He hugged her, and she shooed him out of the kitchen, and out of the back door, and she shut the door behind him. She would take them down to the back of her garden, which bordered on the railway line, and throw them over the fence. It had writing carved along the side in blocky old Chinese characters and an elegant arching handle.

Next to the book, on its side, was the Holy Grail. Galaad seemed disappointed. On Saturday Mrs. Whitaker took the bus into Maresfield to visit her nephew Ronald, his wife Euphonia, and their daughters, Clarissa and Dillian. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “Gracious lady, keeper of the Holy of Holies, let me now depart this place with the Blessed Chalice, that my journeyings may be ended and my geas fulfilled.” “No,” said Mrs. Whitaker. She paid her five pence for the novel, and put the lamp back where she had found it, in the back of the shop.

“No, it’s not an oil can,” said Mrs. Whitaker, who knew exactly what it was. He moved all the old suitcases for her, so she could get to the cupboard at the back. She washed the mint carefully and put a few leaves in each glass, then poured the lemonade.

She had been expecting a little card with a photograph on it, but this was far more impressive. “Stop that,” said Mrs. Whitaker. The knight fumbled in the saddlebag and returned with a scroll. She picked out a Mills & Boon novel she hadn’t read before. “That’s nice,” said Mrs. Greenberg, pointing to the Grail. “That is the Philosopher’s Stone, which our forefather Noah hung in the Ark to give light when there was no light; it can transform base metals into gold; and it has certain other properties,” Galaad told her proudly. Mrs. Whitaker patted its head as she went past.

One day it will hatch out into the Phoenix bird itself; and when its time comes, the bird will build a nest of flame, lay its egg, and die, to be reborn in flame in a later age of the world.”. She gave him the paper bag, and the Holy Grail.

“There was a man in here last week, asking about that thing you bought.

Mrs. Whitaker shook her head. She took the book and the silver container up to the woman on the till. She selected two tall glasses. Mrs. Whitaker took one sugar in her tea, but Mrs. Greenberg took sweetener, which she always carried in her handbag in a small plastic container. It looked a little like a flattened, elongated teapot.

Mrs. Whitaker picked up the dusty silver goblet and appraised it through her thick spectacles. He was giving the neighborhood children rides on Grizzel’s back, up and down the street. “And that’s all I have brought for you,” said Galaad. “No,” said Mrs. Whitaker. Mrs. Whitaker found the Holy Grail; it was under a fur coat. They sat in the parlor and ate macaroons and drank tea. He seemed very pleased with both gifts.

He picked up the leather package from the floor, put it down on her tablecloth, and unwrapped it. There was a moment, then, when it all came back to her—how it was to be young: to have a firm, slim body that would do whatever she wanted it to do; to run down a country lane for the simple unladylike joy of running; to have men smile at her just because she was herself and happy about it. It was a young man with shoulder-length hair so fair it was almost white, wearing gleaming silver armor, with a white surcoat. Mrs. Whitaker took her some homemade fruitcake, although she had left out the walnuts from the recipe, because Mrs. Perkins’s. Here.” On Monday morning Mrs. Whitaker was working in the back garden. Then he went down on one knee, and kissed Mrs. Whitaker’s hand. Galaad swung himself up onto the horse in one fluid movement. The next morning was Friday; on alternate Fridays Mrs. Whitaker and Mrs. Greenberg would visit each other. She heard the crackling of distant fires, and for a fraction of a second she seemed to feel herself far above the world, swooping and diving on wings of flame. On Monday morning Mrs. Whitaker was working in the back garden.

Then he went down on one knee, and kissed Mrs. Whitaker’s hand.

Or lemonade?” she asked. “They’ll look nice on the mantelpiece. Now, give me that, and I’ll wrap it up for you.”

They went into her kitchen. It was an apple, apparently carved from a single ruby, on an amber stem. The kitchen filled—almost imperceptibly, magically—with the smell of summer fruit, of raspberries and peaches and strawberries and red currants. Mrs. Whitaker told him about her late husband, Henry; and how the life insurance had paid the house off; and how she had all these things, but no one really to leave them to, no one but Ronald really and his wife only liked modern things. Her immediate impression was one of incredible heat and freedom.

His horse, a huge gray charger, big as a shire-horse, its head high and its eyes intelligent, was tethered to Mrs. Whitaker’s garden gate. There was a moment, then, when it all came back to her—how it was to be young: to have a firm, slim body that would do whatever she wanted it to do; to run down a country lane for the simple unladylike joy of running; to have men smile at her just because she was herself and happy about it. At midday Mrs. Greenberg went home, and Mrs. Whitaker made herself cheese on toast for lunch, and after lunch Mrs. Whitaker took her pills; the white and the red and two little orange ones. Later, at the Crucifixion, it caught His precious blood when the centurion’s spear pierced His side.”, Mrs. Greenberg sniffed. The little metal cup thing. “I’ve got some cases that need moving.”.

“Nice to meet you,” she said. Galaad told Mrs. Whitaker about his mother Elaine, who was flighty and no better than she should have been and something of a witch to boot; and his grandfather, King Pelles, who was well-meaning although at best a little vague; and of his youth in the Castle of Bliant on the Joyous Isle; and his father, whom he knew as “Le Chevalier Mal Fet,” who was more or less completely mad, and was in reality Lancelot du Lac, greatest of knights, in disguise and bereft of his wits; and of Galaad’s days as a young squire in Camelot.

It had been a gift from her sister, Ethel, who had died in 1983.

In his arms he held a long package, wrapped in oiled leather. “Can I give you anything to eat before you go back?” she asked.

Galaad rewrapped the oiled leather around the sword Balmung and tied it up with white cord. The children giggled. Anonymous comments are disabled in this journal. He drew it from his pouch, and gave it to her.

“That is the Philosopher’s Stone, which our forefather Noah hung in the Ark to give light when there was no light; it can transform base metals into gold; and it has certain other properties,” Galaad told her proudly. He put down the teacup carefully on the russet carpet. “Stop that,” said Mrs. Whitaker. “You shouldn’t offer things like that to old ladies. Lady, I can bring you gold . “It’d look nice on the mantelpiece.” They’re thinking of getting engaged,” said Mrs. Greenberg. At midday Mrs. Greenberg went home, and Mrs. Whitaker made herself cheese on toast for lunch, and after lunch Mrs. Whitaker took her pills; the white and the red and two little orange ones. “It’s a lamp.”. “That’s nice,” said Mrs. Greenberg, pointing to the Grail.

Even though Galahad gave her the most valuable object he had she did not value it as much as he did. silver halo. The woman on the till, who had blue-rinsed gray hair and blue spectacles that went up into diamante points, shook her head and shrugged her shoulders. “Some kind of oil can, I suppose.” “No, thank you,” said Mrs. Whitaker. “And you’ve come a long way, I suppose.”

It tasted like fine wine. “Bernice? The volunteer on duty this afternoon was Marie, seventeen, slightly overweight, and dressed in a baggy mauve jumper that looked like she had bought it from the shop.

It was about the size of a cricket ball. He waited while the horse drank and brought the empty basin back to Mrs. Whitaker. The shop was staffed by volunteers. He picked up the leather package from the floor, put it down on her tablecloth and unwrapped it. The woman on the till, who had blue-rinsed gray hair and blue spectacles that went up into diamante points, shook her head and shrugged her shoulders.

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