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Then Jinny Carslake, after her affair with Lefanu the American painter, frequented Indian philosophers, and now you find her in pensions in Italy cherishing a little jeweller's box containing ordinary pebbles picked off the road.
"Women like Fanny Elmer don't," he thought. "What's-her-name Carslake didn't; yet they pretend..." Mrs. Williams said things straight out. He was surprised by his own knowledge of the rules of behaviour; how much more can be said than one thought; how open one can be with a woman; and how little he had known himself before.
"I left you to do that; he wouldn't listen to me, he seemed to be in a hurry to get it over," Marsden said. "Was he Carter of Queen's, or the other man?" "Carter." "I'll be at Queen's at nine o'clock to-morrow, so you and Carslake needn't bother to go; Carter knows me.
As I went down the slope towards her I noticed she was tall quite too tall for my taste. I dislike women who can look into my eyes on a level but I had to admit that her form was remarkably symmetrical and graceful. She put out her hand it was ungloved and large, but white and firm, with a cool, pleasant touch and said, with a composure akin to indifference, "Mr. Carslake, I presume.
"Have a drink, I'm generally as quiet as a lamb." Marsden sat on the table and refused to drink. "It's no joke being in the same house with you," he said again, and began to laugh. "I'm not going to set fire to the place or blow it up," Bunny replied. "But the house becomes infested with proctors." "Did you see the 'proggins?" "He came into my room and progged both Carslake and me.
Edward Cruttendon, Jinny Carslake, and Jacob Flanders walked in a row along the yellow gravel path; got on to the grass; so passed under the trees; and came out at the summer-house where Marie Antoinette used to drink chocolate. In went Edward and Jinny, but Jacob waited outside, sitting on the handle of his walking-stick. Out they came again. "Well?" said Cruttendon, smiling at Jacob.
Miss Jinny Carslake, pale, freckled, morbid, came into the room. "Oh Jinny, here's a friend. Flanders. An Englishman. Wealthy. Highly connected. Go on, Flanders. ..." Jacob said nothing. "It's THAT that's not right," said Jinny Carslake. "No," said Cruttendon decidedly. "Can't be done." He took the canvas off the chair and stood it on the floor with its back to them.
"Sit down, ladies and gentlemen. Miss Carslake comes from your part of the world, Flanders. From Devonshire. Oh, I thought you said Devonshire. Very well. She's a daughter of the church too. The black sheep of the family. Her mother writes her such letters. I say have you one about you? It's generally Sundays they come. Sort of church-bell effect, you know."
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