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Updated: June 13, 2025
"It seems to me that we were a little premature in quarreling about how we are to divide that reward. It looks as though there wasn't going to be any reward." "Meantime," said Ashe gloomily, "I suppose I have got to go back and tell Peters. I expect it will break his heart." Blandings Castle dozed in the calm of an English Sunday afternoon. All was peace.
She had the same appearance of imminent apoplexy, the same air of belonging to some dignified and haughty branch of the vegetable kingdom. "Mr. Marson, welcome to Blandings Castle!" Ashe had been waiting for somebody to say this, and had been a little surprised that Mr. Beach had not done so.
To alight at Market Blandings Station in the dusk of a rather chilly Spring day, when the southwest wind has shifted to due east and the thrifty inhabitants have not yet lit their windows, is to be smitten with the feeling that one is at the edge of the world with no friends near. Ashe, as he stood beside Mr.
And I thought it was going to be so simple." "I think we should give him at least a week to simmer down." "Fully that." "Let us look on the bright side. We are in no hurry. Blandings Castle is quite as comfortable as Number Seven Arundell Street, and the commissariat department is a revelation to me. I had no idea English servants did themselves so well.
The only thing to be done was to go to Market Blandings and buy the things. Fortune had helped him at the start by arranging that the Honorable Freddie, also, should be going to Market Blandings in the little runabout, which seated two. He had acquiesced in George's suggestion that he, George, should occupy the other seat, but with a certain lack of enthusiasm it seemed to George.
In a house of smaller dimensions he would have raided the larder without shame, but at Blandings Castle there was no saying where the larder might be. All he knew was that it lay somewhere beyond that green-baize door opening on the hall, past which he was wont to go on his way to bed. To prowl through the maze of the servants' quarters in search of it was impossible.
But Freddie's view of the matter seemed to be that he had done all that could be expected of a chappie in getting engaged to the girl, and that now he might consider himself at liberty to drop her for a while. So Baxter, as he bicycled to Market Blandings for tobacco, brooded on Freddie, Aline Peters and George Emerson. He also brooded on Mr. Peters and Ashe Marson.
Swindon was reached and passed. Darkness fell on the land. The journey began to seem interminable to Ashe; but presently there came a creaking of brakes and the train jerked itself to another stop. A voice on the platform made itself heard, calling: "Market Blandings! Market Blandings Station!"
The hopelessness of his task began to weigh on him. Ever since that evening at Market Blandings Station, when he realized that he loved her, he had been trying to find an opportunity to tell her so; and every time they had met, the talk had seemed to be drawn irresistibly into practical and unsentimental channels.
She put on her hat and stole from the house. Curiously enough, only a quarter of an hour before, R. Jones had set out with exactly the same object in view. At almost exactly the hour when Aline Peters set off to visit her friend, Miss Valentine, three men sat in the cozy smoking-room of Blandings Castle. They were variously occupied.
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