United States or Ukraine ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Ackroyd opened it. Thyrza had begun to tremble. Her eyes watched her sister's face eagerly; she read something in the heightened colour it showed. 'And then, Lyddy? And then? 'He asked me to come into the sitting-room. And then he he said he wanted me to marry him, Thyrza. 'Lyddy! It is true? At last? Thyrza could scarcely contain herself for joy. She had longed for this.
Lydia had a feeling that this was not wholly sincere. He seemed to take a pleasure in representing himself as luckless. Combined with what she had heard, it helped her to say: 'A man doesn't suffer much from these things. You'll soon be cheerful again. Good-bye, Mr. Ackroyd. She did not wait for anything more from him. Mr.
Two or three chairs, I think. Mr. Boddy held forth his stumpy, wrinkled hand. 'Give us a friendly grip, Mr. Ackroyd! There's never a friend in this world but the man as finds you work; that's the philosophy as has come o' my three-score-and-nine years. What's the name and address? I'll be round the first thing on Monday morning. The information was given.
Her darling had been artfully drawn by him into this secret intercourse; and how was it all to end? 'I must go home to Thyrza, Mr. Ackroyd. I don't know what to do, but it will come to me when I see my sister. She reflected a moment, then added: 'She went to see Totty Nancarrow, at the same time when I came out. Perhaps she'll be there still.
Since Thyrza's engagement to Gilbert, there was no longer need of subtle self-deceptions, but, though she might now freely think of him, Lydia soon found that Ackroyd was not the same in her eyes. The first rumours of his abandonment to vulgar dissipation she utterly refused to credit, but before long she had to believe them in spite of herself.
Ackroyd lived with his married sister, who let half her house to lodgers. When Gilbert knocked at the door, it was she who opened. Mrs. Poole was a buxom young woman with a complexion which suggested continual activity within range of the kitchen fire; her sleeves were always rolled up to her elbow, and at whatever moment surprised she wore an apron which seemed just washed and ironed.
'Please, do. 'It was because Mary spoke against Mr. Ackroyd. I still don't think that she ought to have spoken as she did, and Mary owns she was unkind; but I understand better now what she meant. 'What was it she said? 'It was about his having no religion, and that, because he had none, he did things he couldn't have done if he'd felt in the right way. 'Yes, I understand, Thyrza mused.
There was absolutely no malice in her tone, but mere satisfaction in proving that the premises whence her conclusions had been drawn were undeniably sound. She was actuated neither by personal dislike of Ackroyd nor by jealousy; but she could not resist this temptation of illustrating her principles by such a noteworthy instance. 'Now wasn't I right, Lydia? Lydia looked up with hot cheeks.
Clearly Ackroyd was in a way to recover his spirits. At the junction of two ways they stopped. Gilbert stopped too, for he did not care to pass them and be recognised. He crossed the road, and from the other side watched them as they stood talking. Now they were taking leave of each other.
The rescuer put his arm in Luke's, and they walked off together. He had not seen her, and she was disappointed. She followed at a short distance behind them. The large-headed man spoke occasionally, but Ackroyd seemed to make brief reply, if any.
Word Of The Day