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Updated: June 3, 2025
There was no doubt but that many things needed a new urgency and activity. Anything that could possibly be considered a novelty had been fought and generally defeated. "There will be a lot of novelties before I've finished with them," Ronder said to himself. He started his investigations by paying calls on Bentinck-Major and Canon Foster.
He was becoming popular. He had towards them all precisely the right attitude; he was not amiable and childish like the Dean, nor pompous like Bentinck-Major, nor sycophantic like Ryle. He did not advance to them but became, as it were, himself one of them, understanding exactly the way that they wanted him.
The Archdeacon flattered himself that he knew Bentinck-Major through and through his snobbery, his vanity, his childish pleasure in his position and his cook, his vanity in his own smart appearance! It would be difficult to find words adequate for the scorn with which the Archdeacon regarded that elegant little man. Then Byle, the Precentor. He was, to some extent, an unknown quantity.
If you were to give me a tip then, you'd say that I couldn't do better than follow Brandon. I'll remember that." "Well, no," said Bentinck-Major rather hastily. "I don't know that I'd quite say that either. Brandon is often wrong. I'm not sure either that he has quite the influence he had.
"What drink?" "Sherry, claret, lemonade for Charlotte, whisky." "Any catastrophes?" "No, I don't think so. Bentinck-Major sang afterwards." "Hum not sorry I missed that. When was it over?" "About eleven." "What did you ask them for?" "For the Ronders." Mrs. Combermere, raising one foot, kicked a coal into blaze.
He talked to himself as he turned the papers over. Foster? Had he seen Foster? Why did the mention of that name suddenly commence the unveiling for him of a scene upon which, he must not look? The crossing the bridge, up the hill, at the turnstile, paying your shilling...no, no, no farther. And Bentinck-Major! That man laughed at him!
Now I may say that I've opposed him on a number of occasions but have had no backing. Brandon, when he's angry, is no light opponent, and the result has been that he's had, I'm afraid, a great deal of his own way." "You're afraid?" said Ronder. Bentinck-Major seemed a little nervous at being caught up so quickly. He looked at Ronder suspiciously. His voice was sharper than it had been.
"Everything's the same here always compromise. Compromise! Compromise! I'm sick of the cowardly word. We'll say no more of Brandon for the moment then. He'll come up again, never fear. He's not the sort of man to avoid spoiling his own soup." "Very good," said Bentinck-Major in his most patronising manner. "Now we are all agreed, I think.
In my own humble opinion what was good enough for our fathers is good enough for us. However, don't let my opinion influence any one." "I assure you, Archdeacon," said Bentinck-Major. Witheram earnestly assured every one that he was certain there need be no alarm. They could trust the Precentor to see.... There was a general murmur. Yes, they could trust the Precentor.
The morning after, he was clear again, and it was almost as though nothing at all had occurred. He went about the town, and everybody behaved in a normal manner. No sign of those strange menacing figures, the drunken painter, the sinister, smiling Hogg; every one as usual. Ryle complacent and obedient; Bentinck-Major officious but subservient; Mrs.
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