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But my aunt Miss Craven the sculptor " he paused enquiringly and she smiled reassurance. "Miss Craven's beautiful work is known to me," she said with ready tact that put him more at ease. "My aunt has, most kindly, promised to to co-operate," he finished lamely. The anxiety faded from the Mother Superior's face and she sat down with an air of relief, motioning Craven to a chair.
But before the latter could get up speed, Hughie was upon him, and ignoring the ball, blocked and bothered and checked him, till one of the Twentieth centers, rushing in, secured it for his side. "Ha! well done, captain!" came Craven's voice across the ice, and Hughie felt his nerve come back. If he could hold Dan, that deadly Front combination might be broken.
For eighteen months she had been Barry Craven's wife, for eighteen months she had endeavoured to fulfill her share of the contract they had made and to herself she admitted failure. The strain was becoming unendurable. In the eyes of the world an ideal couple, in reality she wondered if in the whole universe there were two more lonely souls than they.
"You use Harry Wharton!" said the cripple, with a sarcasm that brought the colour to Louis's thin cheek and made Marcella angrier than before. She saw nothing in his attack on Wharton, except personal prejudice and ill-will. It was natural enough, that a man of Anthony Craven's type poor, unsuccessful, and embittered should dislike a popular victorious personality. "Suppose we leave Mr.
And surely it is better to attract by your personality than by your looks. A woman's voice whispered within her just then, "It is better to attract by both. Then you are safe." She moved uneasily. Then she got up and went to the telephone. The chances were in favour of Craven's being in his flat by now.
Craven's eyes changed slowly from dull suffering to blazing wrath. Uncontrolled rage filled him. How dared Yoshio interfere? How dared he drag him back into the hell from which he had so nearly escaped? He caught the man's shoulder savagely. "Damn you!" he cried chokingly.
Craven's eyes met Lady Sellingworth's, and it seemed to him at that moment that she and he spoke together without the knowledge of Miss Van Tuyn. But immediately, and as if to get away from their strange and occult privacy, she said: "What have you been doing lately, Beryl? I hear Miss Cronin has come over. But I thought you were not staying long. Have you changed your mind?"
He had a gun over his shoulder and was attended by a couple of fine dogs. Telling them he was called John Lutcombe, and was the Earl of Craven's gamekeeper, he inquired their business, and, on being informed of it, changed his surly manner to one of great cordiality, and informed them that Mrs. Buscot such was the name of Amabel's aunt was at home, and would be heartily glad to see them.
She felt somehow that everybody who knew the moor must know Dickon. And she was right, too. She saw that in a moment Dr. Craven's serious face relaxed into a relieved smile. "Oh, Dickon," he said. "If it is Dickon you will be safe enough. He's as strong as a moor pony, is Dickon." "And he's trusty," said Mary. "He's th' trustiest lad i' Yorkshire."
It's something quite different, because the thing that's urging me isn't urging me because I've done something I'm ashamed of, it's urging me because I'm in a false position. There's that on the one side, and, on the other, I'm in love with Rupert Craven's sister." Bunning gave a little cry. "Yes. That complicates things, doesn't it?
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