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She seemed to think she had not seen Europe thoroughly." "I'm glad you tell me that," Isabel said. "I must prepare for her." Mr. Goodwood fixed his eyes for a moment on the floor; then at last, raising them, "Does she know Mr. Osmond?" he enquired. "A little. And she doesn't like him. But of course I don't marry to please Henrietta," she added.
"Well, I don't care; you have changed. You're not the girl you were a few short weeks ago, and Mr. Goodwood will see it. I expect him here any day." "I hope he'll hate me then," said Isabel. "I believe you hope it about as much as I believe him capable of it."
Goodwood; but at the end of three days she wrote to Lord Warburton, and the letter belongs to our history. DEAR LORD WARBURTON A great deal of earnest thought has not led me to change my mind about the suggestion you were so kind as to make me the other day.
That love of liberty of which she had given Caspar Goodwood so bold a sketch was as yet almost exclusively theoretic; she had not been able to indulge it on a large scale. But it appeared to her she had done something; she had tasted of the delight, if not of battle, at least of victory; she had done what was truest to her plan. In the glow of this consciousness the image of Mr.
Then how, on the day following, the papers told of the young gentleman who of all others had won a fortune, thousands and thousands of pounds they said, getting back sixty for every one he had ventured; and pictured him in baby clothes with the cup in his arms, or in an Eton jacket; and how all of them spoke of him slightingly, or admiringly, as the "Goodwood Plunger."
Suddenly the well-muffed knuckle of the waiter was applied to the door, which presently gave way to his exhibition, even as a glorious trophy, of the card of a visitor. When this memento had offered to her fixed sight the name of Mr. Caspar Goodwood she let the man stand before her without signifying her wishes.
But the die was cast and the immense establishment which his friend the Duke of Richmond permitted him to keep on the Goodwood estate was sold. There were no fewer than 208 thoroughbreds, which all passed into the hands of the Hon. E. M.L. Mostyn, for the small sum of £10,000.
Long, thought I, may he prove to be; and yet I never borrowed a penny from him in my life. On the next day, fully equipped, and with all that was necessary for our distinguished position, we set out for Newmarket Heath, even now the glory of the racing world, not forgetting Goodwood, which is more or less a private business and fashionable picnic. I shall not attempt to describe Newmarket.
A swift carriage, of a dark night, rattling with four horses over roads that one can't see that's my idea of happiness." "Mr. Goodwood certainly didn't teach you to say such things as that like the heroine of an immoral novel," said Miss Stackpole. "You're drifting to some great mistake."
Borrow has not seen, as I am informed by him, any native dog in Spain like our pointer. By a similar process of selection, and by careful training, the whole body of English racehorses have come to surpass in fleetness and size the parent Arab stock, so that the latter, by the regulations for the Goodwood Races, are favoured in the weights they carry.
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