Michael Malone - Weebly

Possibly it might bear the Ransom family name. All
to the good.
Since William Bredforet was now too old to stand
holding a gun for hours in sodden rubber boots down
among sedge and gnat-thick rushes, and since Ernest
preferred golf, there was no family objection he could
see in the preservation of any mallard or woodcock that
might be left in the area. So the land was leased, and
the banker kept the fact, as he had been asked, under
his hat. That had been more than seven years ago.
Today, his sunglasses filtering out the bright summer
glare, Ransom drove his sedan a little too fast around
Ransom Circle, up Goff Street, and out onto Route 3,
out to that suddenly sliced-off carpet of superhighway
rolled out, it had seemed to Police Chief Hawk Haig, to
herald the future, a future that had declined, after all, to
make an appearance. At the road's abrupt end,
Ransom squatted in his tailored suit to pull out a few
clumps of sprawling weeds that leeched forward on all
sides to reclaim the land. He felt ill at ease there.
Accustomed since a very pleasant childhood to
everyone's regard, Ernest intensely disliked being