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Updated: June 12, 2025
And Anna Agar, having suddenly learnt to hate Seymour Michael, knew that she had loved him with that one all-absorbing love which comes but once to a woman. She was not a deep-thinking or a subtle woman. Her actions were usually based upon impulse, and her one all-absorbing desire now was to see him, to speak to him face to face.
Well, let me have it," he continued, sitting down in his arm-chair. He began to read whilst I looked at the newspapers. "It's delicious!" he soon exclaimed. "It's a perfect masterpiece." I sprang to my feet in joy. "And you will get Chilly to accept it?" "Oh yes, you can make your mind easy. But when do you want to play it?" "Well, the author seems to be in a great hurry," I said, "and Agar too."
Agar leant back in her chair, drawing her handkerchief through her fingers with jerky, unnatural movements. "And did you lose many friends?" she asked. "Yes," answered the young fellow, "in one way and another." "How? What do you mean?" She had a way of leaning forward and listening when spoken to, which passed very well for sympathy.
Agar emigrated to Clapham, leaving Jem behind them. It happened that a few days after their arrival at the stately house overlooking the Common, a young officer called to see Mr. Hethbridge, who was at that time one of the Directors of the East India Company.
Moore Agar, of Harley Street, whose dramatic introduction to Holmes I may some day recount, gave positive injunctions that the famous private agent lay aside all his cases and surrender himself to complete rest if he wished to avert an absolute breakdown.
The young man was delighted, and his pale face lighted up with a grateful smile as he shook hands excitedly. Agar walked away with him as far as the little landing which projected over the stage. I watched them as they went, the magnificent statue-like woman and the slender outline of the young writer. Agar was perhaps thirty-five at that time.
Madame Agar was an admirable creature. She had evidently been created for the joy of the eyes. She was a brunette, tall, pale, with large, dark, gentle eyes, a very small mouth with full rounded lips, which went up at the corners with an imperceptible smile. She had exquisite teeth, and her head was covered with thick, glossy hair.
Glynde would urge Dora to marry Arthur Agar and Stagholme, without due regard to her own feelings in the matter, is a question upon which no man can give a reliable opinion. Certain it is that such a course was precisely what the Reverend Thomas had marked out for himself. He had an exaggerated respect for money and position a title was a thing to be revered.
The reception accorded him was not exactly enthusiastic. Having in view the fact that the young man called Jack was entirely satisfactory, Lady Mazerod treated all other young men with indifference. Edith despised Arthur Agar because Jack was athletic in his tendencies; and Dora was sorry to see him, because she had not answered his three last letters.
Mark Ruthine was attending to the luggage, which was being piled upon a cab. "Have you not had breakfast?" asked Agar. "Well, I have had a little, but I don't mind a second edition. That waiter chap at the hotel got me out of bed much too soon. However, it is worth getting up the night before to see you back, old chap."
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