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Updated: May 25, 2025
And in the evening she tucked her feet up in the armchair by the lamp and read the REPUBLIC very intently and very thoughtfully, occasionally turning over a page. When Benham got back to London he experienced an unwonted desire to perform his social obligations to the utmost.
"I carry this weapon," shrieked Benham, passionately shaking his fist, "not as an instrument to overthrow the law, but to uphold it!" A clear, steady voice from a nearby balcony made itself distinctly heard: "In other words, sir, you break the law in order to uphold the law," it said. "What more are the Vigilantes doing?" The crowd went wild over this repartee. The confusion became worse.
O'Flynn drained his cup without waiting for the mockery of that first toast To our Enterprise although no one had taken more interest in the programme than O'Flynn. Benham talked about the Anvik saw-mill, and the money made in wood camps along the river. Nobody listened, though everyone else sat silent, smoking and sulkily drinking his punch.
The two things merged in White's mind as he read. The written text took upon itself a resonance of Benham's voice; it eked out the hints and broken sentences of his remembered conversation. But some things that Benham did not talk about at all, left by their mere marked absence an impression on White's mind.
"Yes, aren't they?" said Amanda inconsecutively. "That's our very own nightingale!" cried Betty advancing. "Do you hear it, Mr. Benham? No, not that one. That is a quite inferior bird that performs in the vicarage trees...." When a man has found and won his mate then the best traditions demand a lyrical interlude.
You are Jerry Benham, patron of the manly art Mæcenas, friend and backer of Robinson aforesaid, whom you've invited to Horsham Manor to complete his training." "Preposterous! "No, dear Roger, not I, who am Robinson, but Jerry Benham, multi-millionaire and king of good fellows. Flynn knows the truth, of course, but he's shut as tight as a clam. He won't talk, for his own interests are involved."
Nor was the community on the whole disposed to grumble, for home talent had been employed by the architect; under rigorous supervision, to be sure, so that poor material and slap-dash workmanship were out of the question. Still, payments had been prompt, and Benham was able to admire competent virtue.
The peasant, failing to understand, assured him again that there was no danger. Benham was led over all the other planks, he was led as if he was an old lady crossing a glacier. He was led into absolute safety, and shamefacedly he rewarded his guide.
A second biologist seemed to Benham to come nearer the gist of the dispute when he said that they were not discussing the importance of men, but their relative inequalities. Nobody was denying the equal importance of everybody. But there was a virtue of this man and a virtue of that. Nobody could dispute the equal importance of every wheel in a machine, of every atom in the universe.
Well, Mr. Kilshaw, you told me you knew the deceased." "Yes, I knew Benham." "Benyon," corrected the Superintendent. "Yes, that was his real name," assented Kilshaw. "At his lodgings there was found a packet. That's the wrapper," and he handed a piece of brown paper to Kilshaw. "In case," Kilshaw read, "of my death or disappearance, please deliver this parcel to Mr.
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