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Updated: June 9, 2025
There are some men who can crush their hats, have their boots and breeches full of water, and be covered with dirt from their faces downwards, and yet look as though nothing were amiss, while, with others, the marks of a fall are always provocative either of pity or ridicule. "I hope you're not hurt, Major Caneback," said Larry, glad of the occasion to speak to so distinguished an individual.
So he and Arabella returned together, and when she got off her horse she was only able to throw herself into his arms. Poor Caneback A closer intimacy will occasionally be created by some accident, some fortuitous circumstance, than weeks of ordinary intercourse will produce.
"Oh no; I did not see that. It would have haunted me for ever had I done so. But it was there that I thought he must kill himself. That was a terrible time, Lord Rufford." "Terrible to poor Caneback certainly." "Yes, and to all of us. Do you remember that fearful ball? We were all so unhappy, because you suffered so much." "It was bad." "And that woman who persecuted you!
Then he would take his two bottles of wine, of course from his friend's cellar, and when asked about the day's sport would be oracular in two words, "Rather slow," "Quick spurt," "Goodish thing," "Regularly mulled," and such like. Nevertheless it was a great thing to have Major Caneback with you.
He had been so little intimate with the members of the party assembled and had found himself so much alone, that he had only lately heard the story about Major Caneback, and had now only heard it imperfectly.
"Purefoy is still sulky with me because he killed poor old Caneback." Then Hampton suggested that if he would ask Lawrence Twentyman it might be the means of saving that unfortunate young man's life. The story of his unrequited love was known to every one at Dillsborough and it was now told to Lord Rufford.
On this occasion it was nearly one before the fox allowed himself to be killed, and then he had hardly been outside the park palings. There was a good deal of sherry drank before the party got away and hunting men such as Major Caneback began to think that the day was to be thrown away.
But nevertheless it is a bore when a gentleman dies in your house, and a worse bore if he dies from an accident than if from an illness for which his own body may be supposed to be responsible. Though the gout should fly to a man's stomach in your best bedroom, the idea never strikes you that your burgundy has done it! But here the mare had done the mischief. Poor Caneback; and poor Lord Rufford!
"Caneback, what are you going to ride to-morrow?" asked the lord who saw the necessity of changing the conversation, as far at least as the Major was concerned. "Jemima; mare of Purefoy's; have my neck broken, they tell me." "It's not improbable," said Sir John Purefoy who was sitting at Lady Penwether's left hand. "Nobody ever could ride her yet."
But as it had been ordained that Major Caneback was to have his head split in two by a kick from a horse, and that Lord Rufford was to be there to see it, how great had been the blessing which had brought her to the spot at the same time! Everybody there saw the intimacy and most of them understood the way in which it was being used.
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