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The Duke found voice. "Are you mad?" he asked, clutching at his throat. "Are you all mad?" "No, Duke," said Mr. Oover. "Or, if we are, you have no right to be at large. You have shown us the way. We take it." "Just so," said The MacQuern, stolidly. "Listen, you fools," cried the Duke. But through the open window came the vibrant stroke of some clock.
But Posh "worn't a goin' ta hev his faa'er put oover him, nor he worn't a goin' ta take no pledge. Did ye iver hear o' sich a thing?" So in due course, on the 17th February, 1874, Mr. So Mr. Balls writes me. But he has no letters from FitzGerald, and was kind enough to look up the valuation and sale transactions in his books at my request.
In subjection to him we shall find our long-lost freedom and independence' what would have been Britannia's answer? What, on reflection, is yours to Mr. Oover? What are Mr. Oover's own second thoughts?" The Duke paused, with a smile to his guest. "Go right ahead, Duke," said Mr. Oover. "I'll re-ply when my turn comes." "And not utterly demolish me, I hope," said the Duke.
Oover gave the Yale cheer. The genial din was wafted down through the open window to the passers-by. The wine-merchant across the way heard it, and smiled pensively. "Youth, youth!" he murmured. The genial din grew louder. At any other time, the Duke would have been jarred by the disgrace to the Junta.
But, gentlemen, believe me, right here " "Dinner is served, your Grace." Thus interrupted, Mr. Oover, with the resourcefulness of a practised orator, brought his thanks to a quick but not abrupt conclusion. The little company passed into the front room. Through the window, from the High, fading daylight mingled with the candle-light.
But when the time was gettin' oover, she began to think about them there skeins an' to wonder if he had 'em in mind. But not one word did he say about 'em, an' she whoolly thowt he'd forgot 'em. Howsivir, the last day o' the last month, he takes her to a room she'd niver set eyes on afore. There worn't nothin' in it but a spinnin' wheel and a stool.
He saw again the preternaturally solemn face of Oover, and the flushed faces of the rest. He had thought, as he pointed down to the abyss over which he stood, these fellows would recoil, and pull themselves together. They had recoiled, and pulled themselves together, only in the manner of athletes about to spring. He was responsible for them.
Oover her story how she had left her home for Humphrey Greddon when she was but sixteen, and he an undergraduate at Christ Church; and had lived for him in a cottage at Littlemore, whither he would ride, most days, to be with her; and how he tired of her, broke his oath that he would marry her, thereby broke her heart; and how she drowned herself in a mill-pond; and how Greddon was killed in Venice, two years later, duelling on the Riva Schiavoni with a Senator whose daughter he had seduced.
Reeves axed him tew time and time agin! Not he. That was blowin' a fresh o' wind, an' he jest lay down in the lee scuppers, and 'I can't get no wetter, Posh, he say, and let the lipper slosh oover him. Ah! He was a master rum un, was my ole guv'nor!"
But to-night, while he told Oover about her, he could see into her soul. Nor did he pity her. She had loved. She had known the one thing worth living for and dying for. She, as she went down to the mill-pond, had felt just that ecstasy of self-sacrifice which he himself had felt to-day and would feel to-morrow.
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