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Updated: June 17, 2025
We have become quite weary of our small, mean, uncomfortable, and unbeautiful lodgings at Chorlton Road, with poor and scanty furniture within doors, and no better prospect from the parlor windows than a mud-puddle, larger than most English lakes, on a vacant building-lot opposite our house.
We have become quite weary of our small, mean, uncomfortable, and unbeautiful lodgings at Chorlton Road, with poor and scanty furniture within doors, and no better prospect from the parlor windows than a mud-puddle, larger than most English lakes, on a vacant building-lot opposite our house.
Pomona thought her introduction of herself had not been clear, and repeated: "Strides Cottage, just this side Chorlton, betwixt Farmer Jones and the Reedcroft where her young ladyship bid stop the carriage...." She paused to let the old lady think. Perhaps she was going too fast. But no it was not that at all. Old Maisie was quite clear about the incident, and its whereabouts. "Oh yes!" said she.
No reference was made to any possibility of getting her into her clothes and a return to normal life. Gwen recognised the bearer of the letters, a young native of Chorlton, when she gave him the reply she had written, with a special letter she had ready for "dear old Mrs. Picture." "I know you," said she. "How's your Bull?
Gwen remained at Pensham until the end of the week. Events occurred, no doubt, but, with one exception, they are outside the story. That exception was a visit to Chorlton, in order that Adrian should not remain a stranger to the interesting old twins. His interest would have been stronger no doubt could he have really seen them. Even as it was he was keenly alive to the way in which old Mrs.
Emily and Fanny were two ingénues, come of a remote poor relation, who were destined never to forget the week they were spending at the Towers in Rocestershire. The letter was scribbled across to the effect that General Rawnsley had said he should ride over to Chorlton to-morrow to see if he could be of any use. "The dear old man," said Gwen to herself. "And eighty-four years old!
If no one trusts him in Ancoats, he moves to Chorlton or Hulme, where no one knows him, and where he continues to defraud as before; while legal penalties attach to very few adulterations unless they involve revenue frauds. Not in the quality alone, but in the quantity of his goods as well, is the English working-man defrauded.
It was afore I wrote to him to keep away from the Court for fear of the Police.... Yes I did! Just after Mr. Rowe came round that time, asking inquiries.... I am his wife, Mo nothing can't alter it." "I ain't blaming you, old girl." "Well it was then he said he'd go to Chorlton again. And he's been." Silence again, and the sound of the children above.
His story brought out the insignificance of Charlotte Bronte's aspect, and the bluff rejection of her by Mr. , much more strongly than Mrs. Gaskell's narrative. Chorlton Road, August 9th.
Gwen supplied the name, a singular one, Chernoweth; and the Earl said: "Oh yes Chernoweth. A pretty place. But why 'Chorlton quite well, of course'?" Gwen explained. "Because of the small boy, Dave. Don't you know, papa? I told you Mrs. Picture has directed no end of letters to Chorlton, for Dave." The Earl was not very clear. "Don't you remember? to old Mrs. Marrable, at Strides Cottage?"
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