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He said but you'd scarce believe it! there was no need for a town crier, nor a bellman, and, as for this mace, it could be carried on Mayor's Day by a policeman! Fancy that, now our mace carried by a policeman!" "Dear, dear!" said Bunning. "Don't seem to fit in, that! However," he added consolingly, "if they did abolish you, you'd no doubt get a handsome pension." "Pension!" exclaimed Spizey.
I've nothing to do with it. I should think you'd make a very good parson." Olva was brutal. He felt that in Bunning's moist devoted eyes there was a dim pain. But he was brutal because his whole soul revolted against sentimentality, not at all because his soul revolted against Bunning. "No, I shouldn't make a good parson. I never wanted to be one really.
It would be a very easy thing indeed, Brent decided, for any designing person to hide amongst these trees and shrubs, watch the Bunnings' door until Mrs. Bunning left it, jug in hand, and then to slip across the grass-grown, cobble-paved lane, silent and lonely enough, and up to the Mayor's Parlour. But all that presupposed knowledge of the place and of its people and their movements.
I daresay Craven won't do anything. After all he loves his sister and she cares for him. That will influence him. But, anyhow, all that's done with. There are bigger things in question than Craven knowing about Carfax, and you were meant to tell him -you were really. You've just forced me to see what's the right thing to do -that's all." Bunning was, surely, in the light of it, a romantic figure.
He would wake one happy morning and find that he had invited Craven and Carfax to breakfast, and he would hear them, whilst he dressed, talking together in the outer room, and, later, he would pass Bunning in the Court without knowing him.
But anyone who loves the ancient country towns of England would have agreed with Bunning that Hathelsborough market-place made an unusually attractive picture on a spring evening.
Lawrence gripped Bunning's fingers, nodded to Bunning's stumbling words and smiled genially. Bunning got to the door, blinked upon them both from behind his glasses and was gone muttering something about "work . . . letters to write." "Rum feller," said Lawrence, and dismissed him with a chuckle.
They were links, these statements, these answers; links that went to the making of a chain. He was already familiar with most of the evidence: he knew what each witness was likely to tell before one or other entered the box. Bunning came next after himself; Bunning had nothing new to tell. Nor was there anything new in the medical evidence given by Dr. Wellesley and Dr.
I want to think about things. I've never thought about anything except myself. I'm going to tramp it home, and after that I shall find out what I'm going to do." "And Miss Craven?" "I shall come back to her one day when I'm fit for it or rather, if I'm fit for it. But that's enough about myself. I only wanted to tell you, Bunning, before I go that I shall never forget your telling Craven.
The Mace-Bearer looked up the market-place, down River Gate and along Meadow Gate. Having assured himself that there was nobody within fifty yards, he sank his mellow voice to a melodious whisper, and poked Bunning in the ribs with a pudgy forefinger. "Ah!" he said confidingly. "Just so! Again!
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