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He turned to her, infinitely reverent, infinitely tender. "Will yo' staay with 'im? Or will yo' coom with mae?" "I'll come with you." With one shoulder turned to her father, she cowered to her lover's breast. "Ay, an' yo' need n' be afraaid I'll not bae sober. I'll bae sober enoof now. D'ye 'ear, Mr. Cartaret? Yo' need n' bae afraaid, either. I'll kape sober.
In the matter of prayers, which she made it perfectly clear to Alice and Mary could not possibly annoy them more than they did her, she was going to see Papa through. It would be beastly, she said, not to. They couldn't give him away before Essy. But of the clemency and generosity of Gwendolen's attitude Mr. Cartaret was not aware.
But when she came to and saw herself seeing, she said, "At least this is mine. Nobody, not even Steven, can take it away from me." She also reminded herself that she had Alice. She meant Alice Greatorex. Alice Cartaret, oppressed by her own "awfulness," had loved her with a sullen selfish love, the love of a frustrated and unhappy child. But there was no awfulness in Alice Greatorex.
Well, he dodged down there among those coal sheds. That is the only way he could have disappeared so suddenly. Come on, all of you, except Moore and Cartaret, and we'll beat the shore." I heard them scramble across to the bank, but there were sounds also proving the guards left behind were still on the deck above me.
They could no longer ignore it. "Wull yo look at 'Im, doctor?" "Better not ." Rowcliffe would have laid his hand on the young man's arm, muttering a refusal, but Greatorex had moved to the bed and drawn back the sheet. What Gwenda Cartaret had seen was revealed.
It was, in fact, through her ability to pull wires that Robina had so successfully held him up. She had her hands on the connections of an entire social system. Her superior ramifications were among those whom Mr. Cartaret habitually spoke and thought of as "the best people." And when it came to connections, Robina's were of the very best. Lady Frances was her second cousin.
"I s'all not goa and see him, Mr. Cartaret." She was very quiet. "Very good. Then I shall pay you a month's wages and you will go on Saturday." It was then that her mouth trembled so that her eyes shone large through her tears. "I wasn't gawn to staay, sir to be a trooble. I sud a gien yo' nawtice in anoother moonth." She paused.
It rolled away southward and westward, in dusk and purple and silver green, utterly untamed, uncaught by the network of the stone walls. The barn stood high and alone on the slope of the last field, a long, broad-built nave without its tower. A single thorn-tree crouched beside it. Alice Cartaret and Greatorex went slowly up the Three Fields. There was neither thought nor purpose in their going.
She was still thinking of the blinds when she saw that the man who came towards her was Rowcliffe. He was wearing his rough tweed suit and his thick boots, and he had the look of the open air about him. "Is that you, Miss Cartaret? Good!" He grasped her hand. He behaved exactly as if he had expected her. He never even wondered what she had come for.
She got out, handing her suit-case to a friendly porter. Nobody had come to meet her. They were much too busy up at the Vicarage. There was also a much older man, closely attached to them, but not quite so obviously related. These six people also looked up and down the platform, expecting to be met. They were interested in Gwenda Cartaret.
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