United States or Yemen ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Grail spoke, the knocker of the house-door sounded an unusual summons, a rat-tat, not loud indeed, but distinct from the knocks wont to be heard here. 'Mr. and Mrs. Jarmey are both out, said Lydia. 'They're gone to the theatre. Perhaps it's for you, Mrs. Grail? 'No, that's not at all likely. 'I'll go. Lydia opened. A gentleman stood without; he inquired in a pleasant voice if Mr.
You'll sit by him? 'Of course I will. Go and fetch her; it's my belief he hasn't very long to live. It seemed to Ackroyd a long time since he had knocked at the door in Walnut Tree Walk; very much had come about since then. Impatient, he had to repeat his knock before any one came. Then Mr. Jarmey appeared.
'I knew it had come, she said, in her low voice, which of late had begun to quaver with the feebleness of age. 'Mrs. Jarmey brought it here to show me, because she guessed who it was from. Gilbert said very few words, and when he returned the letter, Lydia went upstairs with it, to nurse the treasure in solitude. It lay on her lap, and again and again she read it through.
Had existence been to her but one song of thanksgiving, even then to lie thus had been more desirable. For to sleep is better than to wake, and how should we who live bear the day's burden but for the promise of death. On Monday at noon there arrived a telegram, addressed to 'Miss Thyrza Trent. Gilbert received it from Mrs. Jarmey, and he took it upstairs to Lydia, who opened it. It was from Mrs.
From the lower part of the house sounded the notes of a concertina; it was Mr. Jarmey who played. He had the habit of doing so whilst half asleep, between dinner and tea. With impartiality he passed from strains of popular hymnody to the familiar ditties of the music hall, lavishing on each an excess of sentiment. He shook pathetically on top notes and languished on final chords. A dolorous music!
Jarmey, the landlady of the house in which the sisters lived, had business in the neighbourhood of the 'Prince Albert, and chanced to exchange a word with an acquaintance who had just come away after hearing Thyrza sing. Returning home, she found Lydia at the door, anxiously and impatiently waiting for Thyrza's appearance.
She wore a dress of small-patterned print, with a broad collar of cheap lace. 'It was too hot to light a fire, she said, rising as Lydia entered. 'Mrs. Jarmey says she'll give us water for the tea. 'I hoped you'd be having yours, Lydia replied. 'It's nearly six o'clock. I'll take the tea-pot down, dear.
With the landlady she held no more intercourse than arose from the weekly payment of rent; the other lodgers in the house only saw her by chance on rare occasions. Her son left home and returned with much regularity, he also seeming to desire privacy above all things. Mrs. Jarmey had at first been disposed to take this reserve somewhat ill. When she knocked at Mrs.
The news, of course, was at once communicated, with moral reflections, wherein Mrs. Jarmey excelled. Not five minutes later, and whilst the two were still talking in the passage, the front door opened, and Thyrza came in. Lydia turned and went upstairs. Thyrza, entering the room, sought her sister's face; it had an angry look.
Will it make me look a child again? Never mind, that is what I should like. I'll have it so when I go downstairs to tea. And whilst Lydia was busy with the golden tresses, Thyrza laughed suddenly. She had only just thought again of the ducks in the park. She told all about them, and they laughed together. 'I wonder whether Mrs. Jarmey knows I'm here, Thyrza said. 'You think not?
Word Of The Day