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Updated: May 23, 2025
High above them, in the very heart of the great Cathedral tower, a mist, reflected above the windows until it was coloured a very faint rose, trembled like a sea about the black rafters and rounded pillars. Even as they looked some bird flew twittering from corner to corner. "When I'm worked up," said Davray, "which I'm not to-day, I just long to clear all you officials out of it.
I laugh sometimes to think how important you think yourselves and how unimportant you really are. The Cathedral laughs too, and once and again stretches out a great lazy finger and just flicks you away as it would a spider's web. I hope you don't think me impertinent." "Not in the least," said Ronder; "some of us even may feel just as you do about it." "Brandon doesn't." Davray moved away.
He was conscious now of Davray and was aware that he did not like him and wished to be rid of him "an awful-looking tout" he thought him, "with his greasy long hair and his white long face and his spindle legs." "Now we'll go up into King Harry," Davray said. But at that moment old Lawrence came bustling along.
"Is there anything in this, do you think? This chatter about Mrs. Brandon and Morris." "I don't know. There's a lot of talk beginning. Ellen Stiles is largely responsible, I fancy." "Mrs. Brandon and Morris! Good Lord! Have you ever heard of a man called Davray?" "Yes, a drunken painter, isn't he? Why?" "I talked to him in the Cathedral this afternoon.
So pray for her, and then pray for me a little, that when I meet God He may forgive me my sins and help me to do better work than I have done here. Life is sad sometimes, and often it is dark, but at the end it is beautiful and wonderful, for which we must thank God." He knelt down and prayed, and every one, Davray and Mrs. Combermere, Ellen Stiles and Morris, Lady St. Leath and Mrs.
This Cathedral is the very place, if you clergymen had any sense of proportion, where you should be ashamed to preach. It laughs at you." "At any rate the Bishop does," said Render, looking down at the tomb. "No, but all of it," said Davray. Instinctively they both looked up.
Falk despised dreams although just now he was himself in the grip of one. Besides the fellow was drunk. A sudden disgust of his companion overtook him. "Well, so long," he said. "I must be getting home!" He wondered for a moment whether it were safe to leave the fellow there. "It's his own look-out," he thought, and as Davray said no more he left him.
He had suddenly a half-alarmed, half-humorous suspicion that Davray was suddenly going to turn round upon him and push him down the stair or stick a knife into him the fear of the dark. "After all, what am I doing with this fellow?" he thought. "I don't know him. I don't like him. I don't want to be with him." "That's better," he heard Davray say.
When you know what the Cathedral's attitude to yourself is, you'll be able to see more clearly." "To myself!" Davray answered excitedly. "It has none! To myself? Why, I'm nobody, nothing. It doesn't have to begin to consider me. I'm less than the dung the birds drop from the height of the tower. But I'm humble before it.
He had never conceived in all his life that any one hated him and this man had hated him for years, a man to whom he had never spoken before to-day. Davray, as was often his manner, seemed suddenly to sober. He stood aside and spoke more quietly, almost without passion.
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