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One arm-chair was allowed on the stage; and into that arm-chair Miss Marrable sank, preparatory to a fit of hysterics. Magdalen stepped forward at the first convulsion; snatched the letter from Miss Marrable's hand; and stopped the threatened catastrophe.
But, dear me, all children make slides girls as well as boys. I used to make slides, all by myself, in Scotland." Granny Marrable's mind ran back seventy years or so. "Yes, indeed, that is true; and so did I." She nodded towards the chimneyshelf, where the mill-model stood Dave's model. "There's the mill where I had my childhood, and it's there to this day, they tell me, and working.
He might be very respectable, and it might be very necessary that he should do it; but brewers, bankers, and merchants, were not gentlemen, and the world, according to Miss Marrable's theory, was going astray, because people were forgetting their landmarks. As to Miss Marrable herself nobody could doubt that she was a lady; she looked it in every inch.
It can only record events as they happened, however much interest might be gained by the interpolation of a little skilful fiction. That morning, at Strides Cottage, a regrettable event had disturbed Granny Marrable's equanimity.
Ruth left her to speak with Elizabeth, and the hand went over to its fellow, in Granny Marrable's. "Phoebe, dearest, that is so and in those days there were a many blacks. But they were fewer and fewer after that, and none in our part when we came away, my son and I.... Phoebe!" "What, dearest?" "You must say nothing of him to Ruth. He was her brother." "Say nothing of him to Ruth why not?"
"Which way's the man with the limp gone?" said he; adding to himself, in the moment required for indicating accurately the fugitive's vanishing-point in the plantation: "He's my man!" Granny Marrable's pointing finger sent him off in pursuit before either of the others could ask a question or say a word.
Gwen had it on her lips to say: "She is not dead," before she had had time to foresee the consequences. She had almost said it when an apprehension struck across her speech and cut it short. How could she account to Mrs. Prichard for this knowledge of Mrs. Marrable's sister without narrowing the issue to the simple question: "Who and where is she?"
At last, however, he did promise that he would himself speak to Walter. Nothing would come of it, but, as his cousin asked him, he would speak to his nephew. He waited for four-and-twenty hours before he spoke, and during that time was subject to none of those terrors which were now making Miss Marrable's life a burden to her.
It is difficult to tell your guest, however surpassingly beautiful, that she has been mistaken for an Angel, even when the mistake has been made by failing powers or delirium, or both together. Yet that was what Granny Marrable's perfect truthfulness and literal thought were hanging fire over.
The father had threatened the son with his horsewhip; and so they had parted, within ten days of Walter Marrable's return from India. Walter had written to his two uncles, asking their advice as to saving the wreck, if anything might be saved. Sir Gregory had written back to say that he was an old man, that he was greatly grieved at the misunderstanding, and that Messrs.
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