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Lashmar had seemed to be musing whilst he savoured a slice of pine-apple. At Breakspeare's last remark, he looked up and said: "The world moves, and always has moved, at the impulse of a very small minority." "Philosophically, I am convinced of that," replied the editor, as though he meant to guard himself against too literal or practical an application of the theorem.
Constance took the newspaper and Breakspeare's note. As she read, her firm-set lips relaxed a little. She handed the papers back with a nod. "Has Lady Ogram heard?" Dyce asked. "Yes; she had a letter this morning, and I have answered it. She was pleased So far, so good. You have had Mrs. Toplady's card for the evening of the 13th?" "I have."
A certain restiveness could be noted in the public mind, heretofore so obedient to the long Tory tradition. Mr. Breakspeare's paper certainly had an increasing sale, and an attention to Mr. Robb in public gatherings other than political was not so sure of cordial response as formerly.
I'm very much afraid that neither you nor I will live to see it completed." "Pray don't discourage us," put in Constance. "Comprehensive theories are all very well, but Mr. Breakspeare's practical energy is quite as good a thing." The editor turned his eyes upon Miss Bride, their expression a respectful gratitude. He was a married man, with abundant offspring. Mrs.
At evening, the coachman drove him to Hollingford, where he alighted at Mr. Breakspeare's newspaper office. The editor received him in a large, ill-kept, barely furnished room, the floor littered with journals. "How will that do, Mr. Lashmar?" was his greeting, as he held out a printed slip.
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