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Updated: June 28, 2025
From waist to neck Colston's back was a mass of hideous scars and wheals, crossing each other and rising up into purple lumps, with livid blue and grey spaces between them. As he stood, there was not an inch of naturally-coloured skin to be seen. It was like the back of a man who had been flayed alive, and then flogged with a cat-o'-nine-tails.
A little before he had attained his eighth year, he was admitted into Colston's charity school in Bristol, an institution in some respects similar to that excellent one of Christ's Hospital in London, the boys being boarded and clothed, as well as instructed, in the house.
"Well," continued Jernyngham thoughtfully, "I suppose if I indulged in a spell of hard work in the open and practised strict abstinence it might improve my appearance, and I could, perhaps, keep out of Colston's way, or if needful, own up to the trick. The old man would hold to his bargain: he's that kind.
Colston started and it was obvious that the others were keenly interested, but Jernyngham's face grew darker and marked by signs of pain, for he had learned a little about Ellice. He was struggling with an overwhelming humiliation. "We'll let that pass," he said. "It's a matter that cannot be discussed. Was Mr. Colston's visit the only time you personated my son?" "Certainly!
The brewer kept three or four horses for pleasure, and the lawyer kept only one; but "Colston's Entire" was on a dozen boards in the town, and he supplied private families and sent in bills. The position of Mrs. Butcher was perhaps the most curious. She visited the rector, banker, lawyer, and brewer, and was always well received, for she was clever, smart, young, and well behaved.
"Yes, do so," replied Arnold. His lips quivered as he spoke, but there was no tremor in the hand with which he gripped Colston's in farewell. "She will prefer death to slavery, and I shall prefer it for her. But if you have to do it you will at least have the consolation of knowing that within twelve hours of your death the Tsar shall be lying buried beneath the ruins of the Peterhof Palace.
Bellamy, but Catharine knows perfectly well that Mrs. Colston's intimacy is desired, and THAT'S the way she chose to behave. Mrs. Bellamy was the last person I should have wished to see here this afternoon; an uneducated woman, a woman whom we could not pretend to know if we moved in Mrs. Colston's circle; and what we have done was all done for my child's benefit.
"Well," he said, "Cyril had got hurt in a row at the settlement a few hours before Mr. Colston's arrival. His head was badly cut; he thought it might make a bad impression." "That doesn't sound very convincing. Had he no better reason?" The rancher paused to think.
It is no affair of mine and perhaps a breach of good manners to mention it, but if I were in Colston's place, I should feel disturbed about the way in which his sister-in-law has taken Prescott's part." "Why?" "The reason should be obvious. Leaving the man's guilt or innocence out of the question, there is his position; I needn't enlarge on it.
It was an attractive face, crowned with red-gold hair; broad brows, straight nose and firm mouth hinted at some force of character, but her eyes of deep violet were unusually merry, and her warm coloring suggested a sanguine temperament. So far, Muriel Hurst had taken life lightly and had foiled Mrs. Colston's attempts to make a suitable match for her.
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