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Updated: May 20, 2025
" She was terribly afraid he would suddenly remember that she was too young and stop his nice, angry talk. "Cuthcott. I'm an editor, but I was brought up on a farm, and know something about it. You see, we English are grumblers, snobs to the backbone, want to be something better than we are; and education nowadays is all in the direction of despising what is quiet and humdrum.
And so she is. And she gazed doubtfully at the girl, whose prim black dress and apron seemed scarcely able to contain her. "Is Mr. Cuthcott in?" "No, miss; he'll be down at the paper. Two hundred and five Floodgate Street."
There'll be lots of talk and tinkering, tariffs and tommy-rot, and, underneath, the land-bred men dying, dying all the time. No, madam, industrialism and vested interests have got us! Bar the most strenuous national heroism, there's nothing for it now but the garden city!" "Then if we WERE all heroic, 'the Land' could still be saved?" Mr. Cuthcott smiled.
Clara was pleased, and said to Stanley, while dressing, that almost every shade of opinion about the land was represented this week-end. She was not, she said, afraid of anything, if she could keep Henry Wiltram and Cuthcott apart. The House of Commons men would, of course, be all right. Stanley assented: "They'll be 'fed up' with talk.
Soames, coming up to the City, with the intention of calling in at Green Street at the end of his day and taking Fleur back home with him, suffered from rumination. Sleeping partner that he was, he seldom visited the City now, but he still had a room of his own at Cuthcott Kingson & Forsyte's, and one special clerk and a half assigned to the management of purely Forsyte affairs.
I'm content to feel that there is in one some kind of instinct toward perfection that one will still feel, I hope, when the lights are going out; some kind of honour forbidding one to let go and give up. That's all I've got; I really don't know that I want more." Nedda clasped her hands. "I like that," she said; "only what is perfection, Mr. Cuthcott?" Again he emitted that deep little sound.
Not that I want to see one God forbid! Those poor doomed devils were treated worse than dogs, and would be again." Before Nedda could pour out questions about the rising in 1832, Stanley's voice said: "Cuthcott, I want to introduce you!" Her new friend screwed his eyes up tighter and, muttering something, put out his hand to her. "Thank you for our talk. I hope we shall meet again.
But that, after all, was no more odd than everything. Why, for instance, the spring flowers in that woman's basket had been born; why that high white cloud floated over; why and what was Nedda Freeland? At the entrance of the little restaurant she saw Mr. Cuthcott waiting.
Taking a taxicab from Paddington, she drove toward Gray's Inn. But now that she was getting close she felt very nervous. How expect a busy man like Mr. Cuthcott to spare time to come down all that way? It would be something, though, if she could get him even to understand what was really happening, and why; so that he could contradict that man in the other paper.
Into whose household Wilmet Gaunt had gone. Ah! Mr. Cuthcott who had told her that he was always at her service! Why not? And the thought that she might really do something at last to help made her tingle all over. If she borrowed Sheila's bicycle she could catch the nine-o'clock train to London, see him herself, make him do something, perhaps even bring him back with her! She examined her purse.
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