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Updated: May 11, 2025
At any rate, you can if you like help Nevil with the colonel. I am convinced they are doing him a mischief. Colonel Halkett has bought an estate and what a misfortune that is! close to Bevisham. I fancy he is Toryish. Will you not speak to him? At my request? I am so helpless I could cry. 'Fancy you have no handkerchief, said Mr. Culbrett, 'and give up scheming, pray.
And if they end, they end as if the man were burnt out, and was ashes inside; as you see Mr. Stukely Culbrett, all cynicism. You would not now suspect him of a passion! It is true. Oh, I know it! That is what the men go to. The women die. Vera Winter died at twenty-three. Caroline Ormond was hardly older. You know her story; everybody knows it.
Time enough had gone by for Cecil to forget his ruffling, and relish the baron's grandly comic spirit in appropriating that big word Apology, and demanding it from Beauchamp on behalf of the lady ruling his household. What could be funnier than the knocking of Beauchamp's blunderbuss out of his hands, and pointing the muzzle at him! Cecil dramatized the fun to amuse Mr. Culbrett.
At any rate, you can if you like help Nevil with the colonel. I am convinced they are doing him a mischief. Colonel Halkett has bought an estate and what a misfortune that is! close to Bevisham. I fancy he is Toryish. Will you not speak to him? At my request? I am so helpless I could cry. 'Fancy you have no handkerchief, said Mr. Culbrett, 'and give up scheming, pray.
'The man himself told you his opinion of renegade Whigs. 'Renegade! 'Renegade Whig is an actionable phrase, Mr. Culbrett observed. He was unnoticed. 'If you don't like "renegade," take "dead," said Beauchamp. 'Dead Whig resurgent in the Tory. You are dead. 'It's the stupid conceit of your party thinks that. 'Dead, my dear Mr. Lespel.
And how vulgar! Now I remember, Nevil said he wished to see Mr. Austin. 'Seymour Austin would not sanction it. 'No, but Nevil might hold him responsible for it. 'I suspect Mr. Stukely Culbrett, whom he quotes, and that smoking-room lot at Lespel's. I distinctly discountenance it. So I shall tell them on Wednesday night. Can you keep a secret?
Stukely Culbrett had said, 'Then there is the man, for he is undoubtedly a projectile'; nor were politically-hostile punsters on an arrow-head inactive. At that moment, she fancied Madame de Rouaillout might be doing likewise; and oh that she had the portrait of the French lady as well!
It's rather a jumble; but you should see her when Beauchamp's on his legs and speaking. 'Mr. Lydiard is in Bevisham? Mrs. Wardour-Devereux remarked. 'I know the girl, growled Mr. Lespel. 'She comes with that rascally doctor and a bobtail of tea-drinking men and women and their brats to Northeden Heath my ground. There they stand and sing. 'Hymns?'inquired Mr. Culbrett.
His uncle Everard, and his uncle's friend Stukely Culbrett, expounded the nature of Frenchmen to him, saying that they were uneasy when not periodically thrashed; it would be cruel to deny them their crow beforehand; and so the pair of gentlemen pooh-poohed the affair; agreeing with him, however, that we had no great reason to be proud of our appearance, and the grounds they assigned for this were the activity and the prevalence of the ignoble doctrines of Manchester a power whose very existence was unknown to Mr.
And if they end, they end as if the man were burnt out, and was ashes inside; as you see Mr. Stukely Culbrett, all cynicism. You would not now suspect him of a passion! It is true. Oh, I know it! That is what the men go to. The women die. Vera Winter died at twenty-three. Caroline Ormond was hardly older. You know her story; everybody knows it.
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