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Updated: June 17, 2025
More than once in her ride to Chorlton it needed all her courage to crush the impulse to tell Tom Kettering to turn the mare round and drive back to the Towers. It would have been so easy to forge some excuse to save her face, and postpone the embarrassing hour till to-morrow. But to what end?
She could answer his question, repeated: "And where did we drive?" by saying: "A beautiful drive, but I've a poor head now for names." She tried recollection, failed, and gave it up. "Chorlton-under-Bradbury?" said the Earl. "We went there too. I know Chorlton quite well, of course. The other one! where the clock was."
"At the Towers the Castle?" "I saw no Castle. My sort ain't welcome in Castles. The party at the house off the road name of Keziah she said Mrs. Prichard had been took off to Chorlton by her cousin, Widow Widow Thrale." "Yes, that is my daughter. Then Keziah Solmes knew?" "She talked like it. She said her cousin and Mrs. Prichard had gone away better than two hours, in the carrier's cart.
Davy's mill, we call it now, because the child took to it so, and would have me tell him again and again about Muggeridge and the horses...." "Ah you told him about Muggeridge and the horses!" "Yes, sure! And I lay, now, he'd told Mrs. Prichard all about that!" "Trust him! Anyhow, he did. And she knew all about it before ever she came to Chorlton.
But why should she not make use of it to divert his mind from the terrible current of thought, whether delusion or memory, into which he had fallen? "I never had but one son, sir," she said, "and he has been dead twenty-three years this Christmas, and lies buried beside his father in Chorlton church."
Nash's letter, gave hurried directions to the servant to tell Tom Kettering to be in readiness to drive her at once to Chorlton, and made short work of breakfast and her adieux to the assembled company. If events would only pay attention to the convenience of storytellers, they would never happen at the same time. It would make consecutive narrative much more practicable.
That is all I have to tell now and remain dutifully yours.... Isn't that delightful? Quite a good report!" Instructions followed to Onesimus not to bring any further news to Pensham, but to take his next instalment to the Towers. These things occurred on the Friday, the day after the visit to Chorlton. Certainly that letter of Widow Thrale's justified Lady Gwendolen in feeling at ease about Mrs.
Therefore when the groggy old concern, which had seen better days early Georgian days, probably pulled up at Strides Cottage in the afternoon, with a black pall of cloud, whose white heralds were already coming thick and fast ahead of it, hanging over Chorlton Down, two at least of the travellers who alighted from it had misgivings that if their visit was a prolonged one, its grogginess and antiquity might stand in its way on a thick-snowed track in the dark, and might end in their being late for the down-train at six.
That is quite right. And has Dr. Nash told you where your sister is now?" "At my own home at Chorlton, my lady. And I am on my way there now, and will see her once more, God willing, before we die." "Go to her go to her! The sooner the better!... I must tell you one thing, though. She is not strong not like you and your daughter Ruth. But you will see."
She laughed on the word a little a sort of protest. "At nearly forty?" "Oh dear, yes! Not that she's forty, nor anything like it. She's thirty-six. Besides, it has nothing to do with age. Or very little. Why how old is that dear old lady at Chorlton that was jealous of your little boy's old woman in London?" "Old Goody Marrable? Over eighty.
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