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Updated: June 11, 2025
He again raised his eyes to her face. It was fixed in a cold, absent gaze; her lips hardened into severity, the pose of her head impressive, noble. Athel regarded her for several moments; she was revealing to him more of her inner self than he had yet divined. 'What are your thoughts? he asked quietly. She smiled, recovering her wonted passiveness. 'Have you not often much the same troubles?
Rossall sitting in the dusk by the open French windows, Mr. Athel in a chair just outside, and Wilfrid standing by him, the latter pair smoking. The sky beyond the line of dark greenery was still warm with after-glow of sunset. Emily quietly sought a chair near Mrs. Rossall, from whom she received a kind look. Mr.
If you had been with me yesterday in a street I was visiting, not a quarter of a mile from home But I'm going to forget all that now. How deliciously warm it is here in the shade! I must have a hammock in our garden at Cowes. 'When do you go back? Mr. Athel asked. 'In about a fortnight. It has done mother no end of good; don't you think she looks remarkably well, Mrs. Rossall?
A passionate burst of tears, an utter abandonment of distress, and the infatuated husband was willing to promise anything everything that his charmer demanded that is, for the time; for Athel Kurston's influence was really stronger than her step-mother's, and the promises extorted from his lower passions were indefinitely postponed by his nobler feelings.
Miss Hood is seriously ill. The Baxendales send daily to make inquiries, and I am afraid the latest news is anything but hopeful. She was to have dined with us here the day after her father's death. There was no further comment; the writer went on to speak of certain peculiarities in the mode of conducting service at St. Luke's church. Mr. Athel read, and, in his manner, whistled low.
Richard thought her ungrateful; and she would sometimes beg, in her phraseology, to go on her bare knees to Stoneborough, only to see Miss Athel again.
Then the letters should flame into ashes, and with them vanish even the regret for the blessedness they had promised. Wednesday morning, and still no letter from Beatrice. Mr. Athel joked about her speedy resignation of the secretaryship. Wilfrid joined in the joke, and decided that he would wait one more day, knowing not what a day might bring forth.
For it was rather an ideal towards which she was working than an attainment in fact, that eclecticism of which she spoke to Wilfrid Athel. The monthly library lists which came under her eyes offered many a sore temptation.
Athel was relating a story of his early wanderings in Egypt, with a leisurely gusto, an effective minuteness of picturing, the result of frequent repetition. At the points of significance he would pause for a moment or two and puff life into his cigar.
Disguise is too strong a word; she has merely kept silence. I need not inquire whether you fully believe what I say. 'What you say, I believe, as a matter of course, replied Mr. Athel, who had drummed with his fingers as he listened impatiently. 'It can scarcely alter my view of the position of things.
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