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I haven't got any life and I don't want to have any," Francie veraciously pleaded. "And I don't know who you're talking about either!" "The man without a country. HE'LL pass you in that's what your sister wants." "You oughtn't to abuse him, because it was you that presented him," the girl pronounced. "I never presented him! I'd like to kick him."
He is like that damnable monster Basiliscus, which defiles yea, poisons! by the sight." All which was hardly claratory to the boy's mind. Presently Montroymont came home, and called up the stairs to Francie. But this day Francie's heart was not in the fencing. "Sir," says he, suddenly lowering his point, "will ye tell me a thing if I was to ask it?" "Ask away," says the father.
She might succeed in appearing ignorant, but could scarcely succeed in appearing kind. Francie had risen to her feet and had suffered Mr. Flack to possess himself for a moment of her hand, but neither of them had asked the young man to sit down. "I thought you were going to stay a month at Nice?" Delia continued. "Well, I was, but your father's letter started me up." "Father's letter?"
She saw these privileged mortals, as she supposed, in almost every victoria that made a languid lady with a pretty head dash past her, and she had no idea how little honour this theory sometimes did her expatriated countrywomen. Her plan was already made to be on the field again the next winter and take it up seriously, this question of getting Francie in. When Mr.
Those were her words, but what she really said in her mind was: "Who would think he was a draper?" Francie was aroused from her Sunday afternoon snooze on the drawing-room sofa. "What IS the matter with that dog?" she complained pettishly. "Surely, after howling like a starved dingo all night be quiet, Pepper! One of you is enough." Rose's terrier was up and fidgeting, with pricked ears.
And it so happened that she was dining that very evening at Timothy's, where she went sometimes to 'cheer the old things up, as she was wont to put it. The same people were always asked to meet her: Winifred Dartie and her husband; Francie, because she belonged to the artistic circles, for Mrs.
"Miss Lang's here, too. Bein' so dim, an' comin' in outer the sunlight, perhaps you don't make out to see her." "She ain't had time yet to pull herself together," Mrs. Slawson inwardly noted. "But, Lord! The first cold greetings over, Claire started to retreat in the direction of the door. "Excuse me, please I promised Francie She's expecting me she's waiting "
Whether this was a little late in the day, and those rewards of the possessive instinct, lands and money destined for the melting-pot was still a question so moot that it was not mooted. After all, Timothy had said Consols were goin' up. Timothy, the last, the missing link; Timothy in extremis on the Bayswater Road so Francie had reported.
But when she went outside when the strain was taken off it may have been otherwise; at all events, when, with bowed and averted head, she crossed the sitting-room and betook herself to the empty chamber above, no one dreamed of following her until Francie, some little time thereafter, went quietly up-stairs and tapped at the door and entered.
"We should never have seen him if it hadn't been for you," she maintained. "That's a fact, but it doesn't make me love him any better. He's the poorest kind there is." "I don't care anything about his kind." "That's a pity if you're going to marry him right off! How could I know that when I took you up there?" "Good-bye, Mr. Flack," said Francie, trying to gain ground from him.
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