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Updated: June 10, 2025
You'd be much worse to us if it wasn't for the still warm ashes of your old passion." It was an immense pity for Vanderbank's amusement that he was at this moment too far off to fit to the expression of his old friend's face so much of the cause of it as had sprung from the deeply informed tone of Mrs. Brook's allusion.
The song seemed to disturb the artist somewhat. "The stupid brook!" he exclaimed. "It was so stupid as to be almost human." "I knew you wouldn't like it," she said, looking up at him in surprise. "I like your singing and the music, but that brook provokes me, the little idiot! Why didn't it stop before?" "I take the brook's part," said Ida.
"What good does it do US?" Mr. Longdon thought. "We can at least respect ourselves." "CAN we?" Mitchy smiled. "And HE can respect us," his friend, as if not hearing him, went on. Mitchy seemed almost to demur. "He must think we're 'rum." "Well, Mrs. Brook's worse than rum. He can't respect HER." "Oh that will be perhaps," Mitchy laughed, "what she'll get just most out of!"
Either she had loved him, been deceived in him, and had married the brother instead; or, having married, this man had hated her and fought against her, and harmed her, because she was his elder brother's wife, and he coveted the inheritance. In either case it was no fault of Brook's. The most that could be said would be that he might have his father's character.
Brook's welcome of the restored wanderer to whom, in a brief space, she addressed every expression of surprise and delight, though marking indeed at last, as a qualification of these things, her regret that he declined to partake of her tea or to allow her to make him what she called "snug for a talk" in his customary corner of her sofa.
"And yet to think that after all it has been mere TALK!" Something in her tone again made her hearers laugh out; so it was still with the air of good humour that Vanderbank answered: "Mere, mere, mere. But perhaps it's exactly the 'mere' that has made us range so wide." Mrs. Brook's intelligence abounded. "You mean that we haven't had the excuse of passion?"
They were men, at all events, whatever their faults had been and might be, and they looked at the main things of life in very much the same way, like father like son. Another silence followed Brook's last speech. "It's settled now, at all events," he said in a decided way, after a long time. "What's the use of talking about it? I don't know whether you mean to stay here.
He talked of the charm of poverty upon a settled income of a very small sum of money, the fruit of a compact he would execute with the town to agree to his perpetual exclusion from it, and to retain his identity, and not be the composite which every townsman was. He talked of Buddha. He said: 'Here the brook's the brook, the mountain's the mountain: they are as they always were.
"Did she tell you I didn't like her?" The indulgence in Mrs. Brook's view of his simplicity was marked. "You thought you succeeded so in hiding it? No matter she bears up. I think she really feels a great deal as I do that it's no matter how many of us you hate if you'll only go on feeling as you do about mamma. Show us THAT that's what we want."
An' 'tis good for grawn people tu, awnly folks is afeared to try now 'cause t'others laugh at en. But I reckon the Madern brook's holy water still. An' theer's wonnerful things said 'bout the crick-stones an' long stones tu. A many of 'em stands round 'bout these paarts." "D'you know Men Scryfa the stone with the writing on it? That's a famous long stone, up beyond Lanyon Farmhouse."
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