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Here, in spite of years and illness, were the same good looks and thoroughbred courage that seemed to characterize the women of this family. Mrs. Thornhill greeted me in Ina Vandeman's very tones, a little high-pitched for real sweetness, full of a dominating quality, and she showed a composure I had not expected.
Myra Thornhill laid down her magazine, and fixed her great black eyes upon the radiant girl in corduroy. "And was the walk in the morning air," she asked, "all you expected?" "All, and much more," laughed Miss Norton, mischievously regarding the man who had babbled to her of love on the mountain. "By the way, enjoy Mr. Peters while you can. He's back for just one day."
"But don't forget my purchase from Thornhill. I shall have the money shortly from a surer source than Peschiera." "The squire?" "Or a rich father-in-law." In the mean while, as Lord L'Estrange entered Bond Street, his ears were stunned by vociferous cries from the Stentors employed by "Standard," "Sun," and "Globe," "Great News! Dissolution of Parliament Great News!"
She was in a high position when I married." "Five years ago," said Boundary, "you married the daughter of Lord Westsevern. It cost you a hundred thousand pounds to pay the old man's debts." The Yorkshireman stared at him. "How did you know that?" he asked. "You're nominated for Parliament, too, aren't you. And you're to be Mayor of Little Thornhill?" Mr. Crotin laughed uproariously.
"Ah, the now is the grand question in life, the then is obsolete, gone by, out of fashion; and now, /mon cher/, you come to ask my advice?" "No, Baron, I come to ask your explanation." "Of what?" "I want to know why you spoke to me of Mr. Egerton's ruin; why you spoke to me of the lands to be sold by Mr. Thornhill; and why you spoke to me of Count Peschiera.
'E's an evergreen, is Tom. Why, he was turned five- and-fifty when he challenged and beat, after fifty minutes of it, Jack Thornhill, who was tough enough to take it out of many a youngster. It's better to give odds in weight than in years." "Youth will be served," said a crooning voice from the other side of the table. "Ay, masters, youth will be served."
After narrowly examining the countenance of the sitter, and motioning him with his pencil into a particular attitude, Sir James Thornhill commenced operations; and, while he rapidly transferred his lineaments to the canvass, engaged him in conversation, in the course of which he artfully contrived to draw him into a recital of his adventures. The ruse succeeded almost beyond his expectation.
"I've a letter from Skeet Thornhill," she groped in her bag again, mumbling as women do when they're hunting for a thing, "It came this morning.... Mrs. Thornhill's no better worse, I judge.... Oh, here it is," and she pulled out a couple of closely scribbled sheets. "The child writes a wild hand," she apologized, as she passed these over.
I wish I had a great, great sum of ready money." The poor gentleman extended his helpless fingers as he spoke, and fell into a dejected revery. Randal sprang from the paling, a movement which frightened the contemplative pigs, and set them off squalling and scampering. "When does young Thornhill come of age?" "He was nineteen last August.
It's worse than ever!" she called to him from the inner apartment. "So they say." "Whatever am I to do?" she exclaimed, her anxiety proving too much for her grammar. "Well, I think you couldn't do better than stop where you are," Harry Thornhill made answer, carelessly. "Stop where I am? It's impossible! My brother Jim would go frantic.
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