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Updated: June 27, 2025
She knew quite well the horror of it, the choke, with the rank, foul-tasting river in her mouth, its weeds and offal winding her limbs. But that would pass, and she would be out of it. Far rather would she be dead at the bottom of the river than married to her benefactor, Mr. George Boult. If only she was sure it might be best for the children.
It can't possibly be Mr. Boult." Mr. Gibbon only threw back his head and loudly laughed. Deleah was a little hurt that the boarder should have forgone his usual careful politeness to receive the exposition of her idea with ridicule. She contemplated him gravely till he stopped laughing and gazed with an apologetic, anxious gravity in his protruding, extraordinarily speaking eyes back at her.
To have no more spunk than that! "Which of you can I speak to?" he asked sharply at last. He crossed the room and touched Bernard's heaving shoulders. "Come out," he said; and Bernard, openly blubbering, got up, and followed his father's friend from the room. In the hall George Boult laid a steadying hand upon the poor boy's arm. "You must bear this like a man, Bernard," he said.
The children met the news of its appearance among them by a loud yell of terrified protest. Mrs. Day had flung herself upon him, grasped him, clung to him. "Not William! Not my husband! No! No! No!" she shrieked. "I thought you knew! I thought you knew!" George Boult said. The woman hurt him by her grip upon his arms; what a din was in his ears! "Papa! Oh, papa! Papa!" Bessie screamed.
Then, as white, half-stupefied, she watched him, he turned and climbed the steps again and stood beside her. "You had better go to George Boult," he said. "Boult will tell you what to do. Are you listening? Go to Boult." "But aren't you coming back to-morrow, William? You can't leave us like this! You must come back!" He was going down the steps again. There was a moon clear in a frosty sky.
Bessie was on a different plane, she told herself, and could do as she liked. "I've been bullying your mother about that ill-doing brother of yours," he said. "I thought I'd better say a word or two to you on the same subject." "Thank you, Mr. Boult. You have forgotten to take off your hat."
"I am putting one in to-day," George Boult said, who had decided to do so on the moment only. He swelled out his chest, settled his shoulders, shook his head in his low collar, and put on an important air. "No doubt it is common knowledge that Mrs. Day and her family have looked to me for advice and assistance, hitherto," he said. "I promised William Day I would look after them.
'I'm a reverend clargy; and, by the contents of my soger's cap, I'll close the mouths on your faces, so that a blessed pratie or a boult of fat bacon will never go down one of your villainous throats again; and then, he added, 'I'll sell you for scarecrows to the Pope o' Room, who wants a dozen or two of you to sweep out his palace. It was then, sir, that, while I was getting out of my red clothes, I was transformed again; but, indeed, the most of us are so now, God help us!"
"Bessie wants to go. Of course, I must go with her," she said. "But why 'of course, if you don't wish? Whoever sent those tickets " "Mr. Boult sent them." "Well, then, Mr. Boult sent them to make you happy; not unhappier." "I know. I am really quite grateful, Mr. Gibbon. It was only those dresses. We wore them at a dance at our house the evening before everything. I can't think how Bessie can!
Boult, a strict Sabbatarian, was more than a little shocked to observe that breach of decorum. The fact that the back-garden was not overlooked, set his mind at rest, however. "We've got to be careful about such things. Customers are often particular," he said.
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