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Wagge's readjusted glance stopped in confusion at her waist. He answered, in a voice that he strove to make bland: "If you put it in that way, I don't reelly know 'ow to refuse; but it must be quite between you and me I can't withdraw my attitude." Gyp murmured: "No, of course. Thank you so much; and you'll let me know about everything later. I mustn't take up your time now."
Gyp looked up then. "The great thing is to save Daisy suffering, isn't it?" Mr. Wagge's face wore for a moment an expression of affront, as if from the thought: 'Sufferin'! You must leave that to her father! Then it wavered; the curious, furtive warmth of the attracted male came for a moment into his little eyes; he averted them, and coughed. Gyp said softly: "To please me." Mr.
The sound of his breathing could be heard distinctly; he twisted a chair round and said: "Take a seat, won't you?" Gyp shook her head. In Mr. Wagge's face a kind of deference seemed to struggle with some more primitive emotion. Taking out a large, black-edged handkerchief, he blew his nose, passed it freely over his visage, and turning to his daughter, muttered: "Go upstairs."
Wagge liked this better; he can get his walk, here; and it's more select, perhaps. We have several friends. The church is very nice." Mr. Wagge's face assumed an uncertain expression. He said bluffly: "I was always a chapel man; but I don't know how it is there's something in a place like this that makes church seem more more suitable; my wife always had a leaning that way.
Wagge's puggy grey-bearded countenance, the red pampas-grass, the blue bowl, Rosek's face swooping at her, her last glimpse of her baby asleep under the trees! She reached Kensington Gardens, turned into that walk renowned for the beauty of its flowers and the plainness of the people who frequent it, and sat down on a bench.
I never conceal my actions." Gyp murmured: "It's a question of atmosphere, isn't it?" Mr. Wagge shook his head. "No; I don't hold with incense we're not 'Igh Church. But how are YOU, ma'am? We often speak of you. You're looking well." His face had become a dusky orange, and Mrs. Wagge's the colour of a doubtful beetroot.
The "Moonshee," with a sober dignity, had interpreted for the British Commander of the Manche, and in due state, a return visite de ceremonie to General Wagge's mansion and headquarters strangely found Captain Anson Anstruther, A.D.C. of the Viceroy of India, a pilgrim to St. Heliers, to arrange secretly for "Prince Djiddin's" safe conduct and return to Thibet. The curious society crowd and St.
Wagge's face was singular; suspicion, relief, and a sort of craftiness were blended with that furtive admiration which Gyp seemed always to excite in him. "Do I understand that you er " "I came to ask if Daisy would do something for me." Mr. Wagge blew his nose. "You didn't know " he began again.
Wagge's thickset, stoutly planted form, thick-skinned, thick-featured face, thick, rather hoarse yet oily voice. It was as if Providence had arranged a demonstration of the extremes of social type. And she said: "Mr. and Mrs. Wagge my father." Winton raised his hat. Gyp remained seated, the dog Duckie being still on her feet. "'Appy to meet you, sir. I hope you have benefit from the waters.
Gyp said quietly: "Your daughter is desperately unhappy; and that can't be good for her just now." Mr. Wagge's thick figure seemed to writhe. "Pardon me, ma'am," he spluttered, "but I must call your husband a scoundrel. I'm sorry to be impolite, but I must do it. If I had 'im 'ere, I don't know that I should be able to control myself I don't indeed."