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Updated: September 8, 2025
"Things are not so black as you see them you are almost as bad as Miss Ansell. Don't think that I see them rosy: I might have done that three months ago. But don't you don't all idealists overlook the quieter phenomena? Is orthodoxy either so inefficacious or so moribund as you fancy?
"Well, then, if you insist on keeping up appearances my daughter-in-law killed my daughter. There you have it." He laughed silently, with a tear on his reddened eye-lids. Mrs. Ansell groaned. "Henry, you are raving I understand less and less." "I don't see how I can speak more plainly. She told me so herself, in this room, not an hour ago." "She told you? Who told you?" "John Amherst's wife.
She ought to introduce me to her husband." They had reached the corner of Hills Road. Ansell spoke for the first time. He said, "Ugh!" "Drains?" "Yes. A spiritual cesspool." Rickie laughed. "I expected it from your letter." "The one you never answered?" "I answer none of your letters. You are quite hopeless by now. You can go to the bad. But I refuse to accompany you.
Ansell answered, with a slight grimace: "My dear Henry, if you could see the house they live in you'd think I had been providentially guided there!" and, reverting to the main issue, he went on fretfully: "But why, after hearing the true version of the facts, should Bessy still be influenced by that sensational scene?
Perhaps nothing would come of it; perhaps friendly intercourse, and a home while he looked around. When they wronged him he walked quietly away. He never thought of allotting the blame, nor or appealing to Ansell, who still sat brooding in the side-garden. He only knew that educated people could be horrible, and that a clean liver must never enter Dunwood House again. The air seemed stuffy.
He came for an evening in mid-week, when even Blanche Carbury was absent, and Bessy and Justine had the house to themselves. Mrs. Ansell had sailed the week before with her invalid cousin. No farther words had passed between herself and Justine but the latter was conscious that their talk had increased instead of lessened the distance between them. Justine herself meant to leave soon.
When the book of life is opening, our readings are secret, and we are unwilling to give chapter and verse. Mr. Pembroke, who was half way through the volume, and had skipped or forgotten the earlier pages, could not understand Rickie's hesitation, nor why with such awkwardness he should pronounce the harmless dissyllable "Ansell." "Ansell? Wasn't that the pleasant fellow who asked us to lunch?"
I should like to hear that too." "Because she was tired of me. Because, again, I couldn't keep quiet over the farm hands. I ask you, is it right?" He became incoherent. Ansell caught, "And they grow old they don't play games it ends they can't play." An illustration emerged. "Take a kitten if you fool about with her, she goes on playing well into a cat." "But Mrs.
They hit him in the back. The next moment he lay on his own back in the lobelia pie. "But it hurts!" he gasped, in the tones of a puzzled civilization. "What you do hurts!" For the young man was nicking him over the shins with the rim of the book cover. "Little brute-ee ow!" "Then say Pax!" Something revolted in Ansell. Why should he say Pax?
Even the little jargon story-book which Moses Ansell read out that night to his Kinder, after tea-supper, by the light of the one candle, was prefaced with a note of pathos.
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