Man in Chains

The white field gate was open and Dr. Ghent parked his car in the green alleyway leading to the orchard. He was a short, sturdy man who somehow suggested the sea, but Stephen Ghent was other than he seemed. Solid he might be, but he had peculiarly kind blue eyes, the eyes of a man who was wise to the troubles that afflict humanity, and especially to pain.
He walked out of the green way and along the thorn hedge to another gate, a simple, slatted cottage gate. A brick-paved path led between small lawns to a little old white house with church windows, a thatched roof, and a porch with slim white pillars and a green door, Rose Hill Cottage. Green shutters were fitted to the lower windows, and a vine and wistaria were festooned about the windows, and the wistaria was in flower. Its mauve trusses seemed to emphasise the whiteness of the walls.