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Then she began to stutter disjointed words: "Look at him, madame. It fills one with pity. Ah! my God, his poor cheeks, his poor chin, his poor face " It was, in fact, a lamentable spectacle. Madame Sabathier's heart was quite upset when she observed Brother Isidore so yellow, cadaverous, steeped in a cold sweat of agony.
'Supposing, he said very slowly, and almost as if speaking to himself, 'supposing Sabathier and you know he's merely like a friend now one mustn't be seen talking to supposing he came back; what then? 'Oh, but Sabathier's gone: he never really came. It was only a fancy a mood. It was only you another you. 'Who was that yesterday, then?
But she's still sleep-walking while these old tombstones dream. Glow-worms and crickets are not such bad bedfellows. 'What interested me most, I think, said Lawford haltingly, 'was this. He pointed with his stick to the grave at his feet. 'Ah, yes, Sabathier's, said the stranger; 'I know his peculiar history almost by heart.
'A big, wooden-looking house. 'Really, sir. Wooden? Lawford looked into her face, but could find nothing more to say, so he smiled again rather absently, and ascended into the street. He sat down outside the churchyard gate on the very bank where he had in the sourness of the nettles first opened Sabathier's Memoirs. The world lay still beneath the pale sky.
'Sabathier's alive, isn't he? 'I never said he wasn't. He's a good deal too much alive for my old wits, with his Mam'selle This and Madame the Other; interesting enough, perhaps, for the professional literary nose with a taste for patchouli. 'Yet I suppose even that is not a very rare character? Mr Bethany peered up from the dingy book at his ingenuous questioner.
'You don't mean, said Mr Craik, who had not removed his gaze from Sheila's face, 'I am not to take it that you mean, Mrs Lawford, the the other? 'Yes, said Sheila, 'HIS' she patted her skirts 'Sabathier's. 'You mean, said Mrs Lovat crisply, 'that the man in the grave is the man in the book, and that the man in the book is is poor Arthur's changed face? Sheila nodded.
It seemed to weave a spell over him, to call up a nostalgia he had lost all remembrance of since childhood. And that queer homesickness, at any rate, was all Sabathier's doing, he thought, smiling in his rather careworn fashion. Sabathier! It was this mystery, bereft now of all fear, and this beauty together, that made life the endless, changing and yet changeless, thing it was.
'Yes, a suicide; that's why our Christian countrymen have buried him outside of the fold. Dead or alive, they try to keep the wolf out. 'Is this, then, unconsecrated ground? said Lawford. 'Haven't you noticed, drawled the other, 'how green the grass grows down here, and how very sharp are poor old Sabathier's thorns? Besides, he was a stranger, and they kept him out.
There could be no mistake, and Pierre again pictured the compartments full of his travelling companions. Some cushions already marked M. Sabathier's corner, and on the seat where Marie had experienced such suffering he still found some scratches caused by the ironwork of her box.
'I think Mr Craik doesn't quite relish having to break the news, Sheila dear, explained Mrs Lovat soothingly, 'that perhaps Sabathier's out. Which really is quite a heavenly suggestion, for in that case your husband would be in, wouldn't he? Just our old stolid Arthur again, you know.
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