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Updated: June 6, 2025
Round the border of the tray were beautifully modelled sea-shells, cray-fish, crabs, and fish of quaint forms, in high relief. Millais was so pleased with the work that he afterwards painted, and presented to Cayley, a fine portrait in his best style of Cayley's son, a boy of six or seven years old. Laurence Oliphant was one of George Cayley's friends.
"How do you mean, what about him?" "I want to see him. I can see Mark perfectly, thanks to you, Bill. You were wonderful. Now let's have Cayley's character. Cayley from within." Bill laughed in pleased embarrassment, and protested that he was not a blooming novelist. "Besides," he added, "Mark's easy. Cayley's one of these heavy, quiet people, who might be thinking about anything.
And when they struck the ground, still fighting, the one on top was chiefly the Yellow One; and before they separated both had had as much as they wanted, especially the Black One! He scaled a wall and, bleeding and growling, disappeared, while the news was passed from window to window that Cayley's Nig had been licked at last by Orange Billy.
I only said that if they were outside, it would probably mean that the office key was outside, and that in that case Cayley's theory was knocked on the head." "Well, now, it isn't, and we don't know anything. Some were outside and some inside, and there you are. It makes it much less exciting.
Here among the litter of tattered pamphlets and well-thumbed "Proceedings" of the Linnean and the Aeronautic Society of Great Britain here were Fredericus Hermannus' "De Arte Volandi," and Cayley's works, and Hatton Turner's "Astra Castra," and the "Voyage to the Moon" of Cyrano de Bergerac, and Bishop Wilkins's "Dædalus," and the same sanguine prelate's "Mercury, The Secret Messenger."
"My God!" said Houghton, turning upon him with staring eyes, "you are " "Whose horse is that?" interjected Cayley. Firefoot laid his head upon Cayley's shoulder. Houghton looked at them both for a moment. "It is the horse of Hyland the bushranger," he said. "All Queensland knows Firefoot." Then he dazedly added: "Are you Hyland?"
Mystery is dear to a woman's heart. She was not different in that respect from others. You took the surest way to be remembered." Cayley's fingers played with his horse's mane; his eyes ran over the ground debatingly; then he lifted them suddenly, and said: "Houghton, you are remarkably frank with me; what do you mean by it?"
Anne's interpretation of Majendie's silence was not so favourable. After being exposed to the pain and insult of Lady Cayley's presence she had expected an immediate apology, and she inferred from its omission an unpardonable complicity.
Bill had a dirty night's work in front of him. But where was the body which Antony had expected so confidently or, if there were no body, where was Mark? More immediately, however, where was Cayley? As quickly as he could Antony had got to the front of the house and was now lying in the shrubbery which bordered the lawn, waiting for the light to go up in Cayley's window.
As a representation of a mathematician in the throes of thought, I know nothing to equal his portrait by Dickenson, which now hangs in the hall of Trinity College, Cambridge, and is reproduced in the sixth volume of Cayley's collected works. His life was that of a man moved to investigation by an uncontrollable impulse; the only sort of man whose work is destined to be imperishable.
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