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Updated: May 9, 2025
In the eye of the spirit, she was holding herself as far aloof from him as if their marriage had never taken place, so far aloof that, nowadays, Brenton scarcely felt the friction of her presence. For the first month and the second, this aloofness came upon Scott Brenton's nerves, and drove him well-nigh mad.
Just the form taken by that cropper, just when his relations with Saint Peter's would cease, just why and wherefore, just what would be the next page of Brenton's history: all this was still an enigma past all finding out. For that very reason, it added untold zest to all the cups of tea. Indeed, it had quite ousted the subject of Reed Opdyke from the public mind.
Therefore it had seemed to Doctor Keltridge the one way of escape from the whole pother had been opened by his words, which he now repeated with a fresh emphasis that he hoped would finally impress them upon Scott Brenton's ear. "Yes; and so, with all this complication on his hands, the professor is hunting for a new assistant." This time, Brenton looked at him keenly.
"Don't you?" the doctor asked him suddenly, after a short pause. "I do not." "Don't you, as a priest, believe, for instance, that this whole trouble was sent to Opdyke for his betterment?" Brenton halted in his walk, and gazed down at the doctor fearlessly. "I do not," he said. "You profess to," the doctor reminded him, with scant mercy. Brenton's lips stiffened. "Exactly. There is the trouble.
"Did Professor Opdyke have a son?" he asked, with a new eagerness which was wholly alien to the one concerning his bit of autobiography. Olive smiled at his phrasing. "He did; I trust he still does," she answered; "though, with a mining man, one never can be quite sure. Why? Did you know Reed?" The colour came into Brenton's cheeks, as he blurted out the totally forgotten truth.
Meantime, I float gradually towards Brenton's Cove; the lawns that reach to the water's edge were never so gorgeously green in any summer, and the departure of the transient guests gives to these lovely places an air of cool seclusion; when fashion quits them, the imagination is ready to move in. An agreeable sense of universal ownership comes over the winter-staying mind in Oldport.
Best leave those fellows to their ministerial sackcloth, without questioning the quality of the flax from which it was spun. A man of Scott Brenton's calibre would do no harm by his preaching. What was the sense of seeking to upset any orthodox beliefs he might happen to have inherited?
Here is a motive for the crime, and a very strong one. First, we will presume that you are in love with the wife of the man who is murdered. Secondly, supposing that you are mercenary, quite a considerable amount of money will come to you in case you marry Brenton's widow. Next, some one at that table poisoned him. It was not Mrs. Brenton, who poured out the cup of coffee.
But when Brenton's Reef comes to Price's Neck, Soul and body are both a wreck." "What does it mean?" asked Harry. "It only means," said somebody, "that when you see it white all the way out from the Neck to the Reef, you can't take the inside passage." "But what does the last half mean?" persisted Harry.
And, with a salute more crushing than he was at all aware, Ramsdell swung on his heel and went striding away down the street. All this was bound to tell upon a man of Brenton's calibre, the more so in that Brenton already was worn out with fighting his own personal battles of the spirit.
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