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Updated: June 7, 2025
Carmyle to drive her to the boarding-house, and started to walk there, hoping that the crisp morning air would effect a cure. She wondered now how she could ever have looked with approval on her rash act. She wondered what demon of interference and meddling had possessed her, to make her blunder into people's lives, upsetting them. She wondered that she was allowed to go around loose.
The train passed smoothly out of the station. Sally cast one last look back at her red-haired friend, who had now halted and was waving a handkerchief. Then she turned to apologize to the other occupant of the carriage. "I'm so sorry," she said, breathlessly. "I hope I didn't hurt you." She found herself facing Ginger's cousin, the dark man of yesterday's episode on the beach, Bruce Carmyle. Mr.
No care-free prospector, singing his way through the Mojave Desert and suddenly finding himself confronted by a rattlesnake, could have experienced so abrupt a change of mood as did Ginger at this revolting spectacle. Even in their native Piccadilly it had been unpleasant to run into Mr. Carmyle. To find him here now was nothing short of nauseating.
There was a painful silence, broken only by the relieved sigh of the armchair as Uncle Donald heaved himself out of it. "After that," said Uncle Donald, "I have nothing more to say." "Good!" said Mr. Carmyle rudely, lost to all shame. "'Cept this. If you come back married to that girl, I'll cut you in Piccadilly. By George, I will!" He moved to the door.
Your aunt Mary's been meeting some people name of Bassington-Bassington, related Kent Bassington-Bassingtons... eldest daughter charming girl, just do for you." Outside the pages of the more old-fashioned type of fiction nobody ever really ground his teeth, but Bruce Carmyle came nearer to it at that moment than anyone had ever come before.
A damn fool," continued Uncle Donald, specifying more exactly. "Don't like the girl. Never did. Not a nice girl. Didn't like her. Right from the first." "Need we discuss this?" said Bruce Carmyle, dropping, as he was apt to do, into the grand manner. The Head of the Family drank in a layer of moustache and blew it out again. "Need we discuss it?" he said with asperity. "We're going to discuss it!
My cousin's at the Bar, too one of our rising nibs, as a matter of fact..." "I thought he was a lawyer of some kind." "He's got a long way beyond it now, but when he started he used to devil for Scrymgeour assist him, don't you know. His name's Carmyle, you know. Perhaps you've heard of him? He's rather a prominent johnny in his way. Bruce Carmyle, you know." "I haven't."
She had to stop talking in order to allow her mind to clear itself of rude thoughts. "Mr. Kemp was telling me about Mr. Scrymgeour," she went on at length. Bruce Carmyle stared for a moment at the yard or so of French bread which the waiter had placed on the table. "Indeed?" he said. "He has an engaging lack of reticence." The waiter returned bearing soup and dumped it down.
Carmyle bought it from some lord or other who had been losing money on the Stock Exchange. I hope you haven't seen it, anyway, because I want to describe it at great length. I want to pour out my soul about it. Ginger, what has England ever done to deserve such paradises? I thought, in my ignorance, that Mr. Faucitt's Cissister place was pretty good, but it doesn't even begin. It can't compete.
The fact has not been called to my attention before." "I suppose you never had any sisters," said Sally. "They would have told you." Mr. Carmyle relapsed into an offended dumbness, which lasted till the waiter had brought the coffee. "I think," said Sally, getting up, "I'll be going now. I don't seem to want any coffee, and, if I stay on, I may say something rude.
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