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Updated: June 26, 2025
"'Yes! 'No! Is that the way to answer me when I am so distressed and so anxious about you?" "I am sorry I spoke as I did, Lucy. We look at some subjects in very different ways. I don't dispute, dear, that yours is the reasonable view." "You don't dispute?" retorted Mrs. Crayford, warmly.
"My dear fellow," he said, "come to our wedding, and judge for yourself." "Come to your wedding?" Crayford noticed it, and Crayford's blood ran cold. Comparing the words which Wardour had spoken to him while they were alone together with the words that had just passed in his presence, he could draw but one conclusion. The woman whom Wardour had loved and lost was Clara Burnham.
His brother officers, standing near, pulled him back. They looked at each other anxiously. The merciless cold, striking its victims in various ways, had struck in some instances at their reason first. Everybody loved Crayford. Was he, too, going on the dark way that others had taken before him? They forced him to seat himself on one of the lockers. "Steady, old fellow!" they said kindly "steady!"
And if anything helps, even lies from Madame Sennier, and the sly deceit of Gillier, I mean to welcome it. That's the only thing to do. Crayford is right. I didn't see it at first, but I see it now. It's no earthly use the artist trying to keep himself and his talent in cotton wool in these days.
He began to see many things in a new way, to see some things which he had never perceived before. Among them he saw the fine side of ambition. He respected Alston's determination to win out, to justify his conduct in his father's eyes, and pay back to Mr. Crayford with interest all he had received from that astute, yet not unimaginative, man. He loved the lad for his eagerness.
How could he still keep her in ignorance of the truth? These were the reflections which now troubled Crayford, and which presented him, after his rescue, in the strangely inappropriate character of a depressed and anxious man. His brother officers, as he well knew, looked to him to take the chief responsibility.
Chiselhurst, 19. Christian burial, 50. City Corporation, 58. Clarkson, D.A., 61. Cliffe, 21. Closing graveyards, 59, 60. Clubbe, Rev. Mr., 55. Cobham, 31. Colchester, court at, 55. Colvill, Capt., 81. Commonwealth, 53. Continental gravestones, 91. Cooling parish, 23. Cornwall, 100, 104. Covenanters, 84, 86. Cranbrook, 16, 48. Crayford, 17, 107. Cray Valley, 38. Culbinsgarth, Shetland, 100.
Will you give me a refuge? That's what he said, Crayford, word for word." "Did you ask him to explain himself further?" "Not I! I knew his value, and I took the poor devil on the spot, without pestering him with any more questions. No need to ask him to explain himself. The facts speak for themselves in these cases. The old story, my good friend! There's a woman at the bottom of it, of course."
Dead to the outer world, as if she lay already in her grave insensible to touch, insensible to sound, motionless as stone, cold as stone Clara stands on the moonlit lawn, facing the seaward view. Mrs. Crayford waits at her side, patiently watching for the change which she knows is to come.
Finally she was betrayed into saying: "Of course we wives of composers are apt to be prejudiced." Madame Sennier stared. "But," added Charmian, "people who really know think a great deal of my husband; Mr. Crayford, for instance." Directly she had said this she repented of it. She realized that Claude would have hated the remark had he heard it.
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