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Hezekiah picked up the widow's daily paper which, by the way, he largely depended on for the news. Silence reigned for a while, save for the rustle of the sheet. The click-clack of the widow's knitting needles, and the rapid plying of Cicely's brush, were varied at last by the girl surreptitiously pulling a note out of her jaunty apron pocket.
We get on wonderfully well after that; but it is a pretty room, isn't it, Dick?" She had her arm in Cicely's, and pressed it sometimes as she talked, but she did not talk to her. "It's an uncommonly pretty room," said Dick. "Might be in Grosvenor Square. Where did you and Walter get your ideas of furnishing from, Muriel? We don't run to this sort of thing at Kencote and Mountfield.
Nelly's black eyes observed her with as much sarcasm in their sweetness as she dared to throw into them. She changed her tone. 'Don't go to the cottage this afternoon, Cicely. 'Why? The voice was peremptory. 'Well, because Nelly described Farrell's chance meeting with the Stewarts and the inevitable invitation. Cicely's flush deepened. But she tried to speak carelessly.
Cicely was fond of reading too; and once or twice they had been to Westminster Abbey because she had a fancy for Poets' Corner. But this afternoon they were going to their home at Edmonton, and if they could get away again, and if it didn't rain, they were going to the Chingford hills, for Cicely, of all things, loved a glorious walk. "Cicely's a dear kiddie. She's my friend.
At present he stands like a kind of neutral whipping-post very much in my way!" "He knows Lord Roxmouth, he tells me," went on Maryllia; whereat Cicely's sharp glance flashed at her inquisitively "Lord Roxmouth is by way of being a patron of the arts." The tone of her voice, slightly contemptuous, was not lost on Adderley. He fancied he was on dangerous ground.
Its commonest expression is a perverse antipathy to one of the lovers, with an irrational increase of affection for the other; and in this case Captain Breton came in for his full share of Cicely's smothered anger and disdain.
However, it was the quarrels between these two strange lovers, if they were lovers, that had made a friendship, warm and real on Cicely's side even impassioned between Nelly and Cicely. For Cicely had at last found someone not of her own world to whom she could talk in safety.
After most of the people were gone, he came down and went into the water." "Really?" Cicely's tone was rapt. "I wish I'd seen him. How did he look?" "Atrocious. He is bow-legged, and he wore a rose-colored suit. Against the green of the waves, he looked like a huge pink wishbone." "Did he swim beautifully?" Phebe shook her hair back from her shoulders.
Mistress Susan was unusually severe with the girl on the indiscretion of gadding in strange places with no better escort than Diccon, and of entering into conversation with unknown persons. Moreover, Cicely's hair, her shoes, and camlet riding skirt were all so dank with dew that she was with difficulty made presentable by the time the horses were brought round.
Cicely's tone was tinged with a pride almost maternal. "That's Billy. He is a thoroughbred Yorkshire. Isn't he a dear?" "Do you know where Billy is?" Theodora asked, coming into the library, one evening. Cicely glanced up from her book. "He was here, just a few minutes ago." "Patrick wants him." "Who?" "Patrick." Cicely looked surprised and closed her book.
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