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Updated: June 27, 2025
'My guardian and director, cried Rose, 'must not begin his functions by misleading and sophistical quotations from the classics! He did not answer for a moment. They were at the gate of Burwood, under a thick screen of wild cherry trees. The gate was half open, and his hand was on it.
She was nearing the gate of Burwood, and involuntarily slackened step. The man who was approaching, catching sight of the slim girlish figure in the broad hat and pink and white cotton dress, hurried up. The color rushed to Rose's cheek. In another minute she and Hugh Flaxman were face to face. She could not hide her astonishment.
I found out that she was living in a cottage in Burwood, Sydney, and struggling through the winter on what she'd saved from the money her father left her. "I got a shave and dressed up quiet and decent.
And she walked on homeward meditating, her thin fingers clasped before her, the wind blowing her skirts, the blue ribbons on her hat, the little gold curls on her temples, in an artistic many-colored turmoil about her. When she got to Burwood she shut herself into the room which was peculiarly hers, the room which had been a stable.
A delightful art and every opportunity to make it tell! There was a pause. She looked into the fire. 'I don't know whether it is a delightful art, she said presently, stifling a little yawn. 'I believe I am getting very tired of London. Sometimes I think I shouldn't be very sorry to find myself suddenly spirited back to Burwood! Langham gave vent to some incredulous interjection.
Of a later date are Randwick, Newtown, Stanmore, Ashfield, Burwood, and Petersham the last four along the railway line. The good people of Sydney do not spend their money so much upon outward show as the Victorians. Hence the number of large houses in the suburbs is very much smaller.
'It seems to me, he said at last dryly, as he opened a gate for her not far from Burwood, 'that you have been making yourself agreeable to a vast number of people. In my new capacity of censor I should like to warn you that there is nothing so bad for the character as universal popularity. 'I have not got a thousand and one important cousins! she exclaimed, her lip curling.
Long after everyone else in Burwood, even the chafing, excited Rose, was asleep, Catherine in her dimly lighted room, where the stormy northwest wind beat noisily against her window, was sitting in a low chair, her head leaning against her bed, her little well-worn Testament open on her knee. But she was not reading.
On the morning of the 23d, when Robert, sitting at his work, was looking at Burwood through the window in the flattering belief that Catherine was the captive of the weather, she had spent an hour or more with Mary Backhouse, and the austere influences of the visit had perhaps had more share than she knew in determining her own mood that day.
For, though the rain had stopped, a boisterous northwest wind was still rushing through the valley, and the trees round Burwood were swaying and groaning under the force of its onslaught. 'Well, it is stormy, said Mrs. Thornburgh, stepping in and undoing all the various safety-pins and elastics which had held her dress high above the mud. 'Are the girls out?
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