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Then I'll go and see Mr Berrington, who has just returned, they say, from his wedding trip. My own wish is to become a sort of missionary among the poor people hereabouts." "Why, Joe," said his friend, "you've bin that, more or less, for years past." "Ay, at odd times," returned Joe, "but I should like to devote all my time to it now."
He may be able to help us if you won't." "I can help you," Berrington said in a thrilling voice, "beyond your most sanguine hopes." Sartoris sat a huddled heap on the floor, with his white snarling face looking out like the head of an angry snake. He was not in the least afraid, and yet the expression of his eyes told that he knew everything was over.
We have fortunately another air-tube, and I want to complete the work we have begun." "Is there not a risk," whispered Aileen to her father, "that the same accident may happen again?" "Ah, true," answered Mr Hazlit aloud; "the water appears to be very deep, Mr Berrington. Do you not think it probable that the air-tube may burst a second time?"
"I say, Bill," remarked one of the couple who held Jem Hogg's lines, "Jem seems to be doin' somethin' uncommon queer he's either got hold of a conger-eel by the tail, or he's amoosin himself by dancin' a hornpipe." "Why, boys," answered Bill, who was one of the attendants on Edgar, "I do believe Mr Berrington has got hold o' somethin' o' the same sort.
They were expensive houses, Berrington decided, houses that could not have been less than two hundred and fifty a year. They looked prosperous with their marble steps and conservatories on the right side of the wide doorways; there were good gardens behind and no basements. Berrington could see, too, by the hanging opals in the upper windows that these houses had electric lights.
"We will both be sailors just paid off from a ship and with money in our pockets. Sailors, in that condition who have assimilated a fair amount of liquid refreshment, do strange things. Oh, we shall be all right. Merchant seamen let us be, from the ship Severn, just home from South America. Good afternoon, sir." It was nearly ten before Berrington reached the rendezvous.
Berrington's agitation deepened. With all her distress and sorrow, Beatrice did not fail to notice it. "Perhaps you will go down to the office and see at once, Mark," Beatrice suggested. Ventmore went off obediently enough. Berrington stood watching him for a moment, then he turned to Beatrice and laid his hand gently on her arm.
It might have been no more than the wind in the pipe, and yet on the other hand it might have been meant for a cautious message. Berrington crossed over and asked a question in a low voice. Immediately a reply came in the faintest possible whisper. "It is I who speak," the voice said. "Mary, you know. By accident I have a chance of a few words with you again.
When Richford followed you I had to borrow that tray and the rest of it and disburse another half sovereign. Then I saw that my old friend Berrington had come to my rescue. Did you tell him, Beatrice?" "He saw the message on the wine card and recognized your handwriting. But I shall not be able to stay much longer, Mark. Those people may come into the drawing-room at any moment.
The great crank that grinds the screw, and is itself ground by the piston not to mention the cylinder and boiler works in a dark place deep down in the engine-room, like a giant hand constantly engaged on deeds of violence and evil. Here Edgar Berrington, clothed in white canvas and oil, finds genial companionship. He dotes on the great crank. It is a sympathetic thing.
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