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Updated: June 12, 2025
"I am fond of my pupils; they are good little things, rather foolish, but amiable. But I understand your feeling, my poor Miss Agar. Your charge is " Olive hesitated. "It is a difficult age; and she has the body of twenty and the sense of ten. I am putting it very badly, but but I was hateful years ago too. I think one always is, perhaps.
A man, by the way, should never know anything about drapery or draping. Such knowledge undermines his virility. This is an age of undermining knowledge. We all, from the lowest to the highest, learn many things of which we were better ignorant. The school-board infant acquires French; Arthur Agar and his like bring away from Cambridge a pretty knack of draping chair-backs.
"I told your brother," answered the General with dogged indifference. "Only?" There was an ugly gleam in the blue eyes. "I didn't tell him not to tell the others." "But you suggested it to him," put in Mark Ruthine, with the knowledge of mankind that was his. "What has it got to do with you, at any rate?" snapped Seymour Michael. "Nothing," replied Ruthine, looking across at Agar.
I hope he is well. The boy is not strong." "Yes, he is quite well, thank you. But of course he has had a great shock, and one cannot expect him to get over it all at once." The Rector did not hold much by sentiment, so he contented himself with a grave sip of sherry. "And now I am afraid there is fresh trouble," added Mrs. Agar. "Been running into debt?" suggested Mr. Glynde. "No, it is not that.
Agar vaguely, "I am very fond of Dora; no one could be more so. But I must confess that I do not always understand her." Even to Sister Cecilia it would not do to confess that she was afraid of her. The interview was easily brought about. Mrs. Agar wrote a note to the Rector and asked him to luncheon.
In a few moments Miss Cecilia Harbottle entered the library. She glided forward as if afloat on a depth of the milk of human kindness, and folded Mrs. Agar in an emotional embrace. "Dear!" she exclaimed. "Dear Anna, how I feel for you!" In illustration of this sympathy she patted Mrs. Agar's somewhat flabby hands, and looked softly at her.
With a groan, unlike a human sound at all, Arthur Agar had rushed forward when his mother spoke, and for a few seconds there was a wild confusion in the room, while Seymour Michael, white with dread, fled before his doom. In and out among the people and the furniture, shouting for help, he leapt and struggled. Then there came a crash.
"Can you not see that he is in a sort of trance? He hears and sees nothing. He is quite unconscious." Mrs. Agar seemed only half to understand. She stared at her son, swaying backwards and forwards in imbecile misery. "Oh dear! oh dear!" she whispered, "what have we done to deserve this?" After a few seconds she repeated the words. "What have we done to deserve this? What have we done ..."
She had been the spoilt child of a ponderous, thick-skinned father and a very suburban mother, who, out of her unexpected prosperity, could deny her daughter nothing. Three months after the receipt of the news Anna Hethbridge went down into Hertfordshire, where, in the course of a visit at Stagholme Rectory, she met and became engaged to the Squire of Stagholme, James Edward Agar.
which may be translated: "Ask their advice, ye men of wit And always do the opposite." Another of his favourite sayings against women was the Persian couplet: "Agar nek budi zan u Ray-i-Zan Zan-ra Ma-zan nam budi, na Zan," which may be rendered: "If good were in woman, of course it were meeter To say when we think of her, Beat not, not Beat her."
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