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Updated: May 22, 2025
"From Diplow," he answered slowly, seating himself opposite her and looking at her with an unnoting gaze which she noted. "You are tired, then." "No, I rested at the Junction a hideous hole. These railway journeys are always a confounded bore. But I had coffee and smoked."
"You will always be with Sir Hugo now!" she said presently, looking at him. "You will always live at the Abbey or else at Diplow?" "I am quite uncertain where I shall live," said Deronda, coloring. She was warned by his changed color that she had spoken too rashly, and fell silent. After a little while she began, again looking away "It is impossible to think how my life will go on.
Still, to have put off a decision was to have made room for the waste of Grandcourt's energy. The guests at Diplow felt more curiosity than their host. How was it that nothing more was heard of Miss Harleth? Was it credible that she had refused Mr. Grandcourt? Lady Flora Hollis, a lively middle-aged woman, well endowed with curiosity, felt a sudden interest in making a round of calls with Mrs.
"I know nothing of his affairs." "What! not of the other establishment he keeps up?" "Diplow? Of course. He took that of Sir Hugo. But merely for the year." "No, no; not Diplow: Gadsmere. Sir Hugo knows, I'll answer for it." Deronda said nothing. He really began to feel some curiosity, but he foresaw that he should hear what Mr. Vandernoodt had to tell, without the condescension of asking.
The rector was deeply hurt, and remembered, more vividly than he had ever done before, how offensively proud and repelling the manners of the deceased had been toward him remembered also that he himself, in that interesting period just before the arrival of the new occupant at Diplow, had received hints of former entangling dissipations, and an undue addiction to pleasure, though he had not foreseen that the pleasure which had probably, so to speak, been swept into private rubbish-heaps, would ever present itself as an array of live caterpillars, disastrous to the green meat of respectable people.
Why is he come to Diplow?" These questions ran in her mind as the voice of an uneasy longing to be judged by Deronda with unmixed admiration a longing which had had its seed in her first resentment at his critical glance. Why did she care so much about the opinion of this man who was "nothing of any consequence"? She had no time to find the reason she was too much engaged in caring.
Grandcourt was to be here to-day." "Ah, by the way, so he was. The time's getting on too," said his lordship, looking at his watch. "But he only got to Diplow the other day. He came to us on Tuesday and said he had been a little bothered. He may have been pulled in another direction.
Hardly any face could be less like Deronda's than that represented as Sir Hugo's in a crayon portrait at Diplow. A dark-eyed woman, no longer young, had become "stuff o' the conscience" to Gwendolen. That night when she had got into her little bed, and only a dim light was burning, she said "Mamma, have men generally children before they are married?" "No, dear, no," said Mrs. Davilow.
Davilow that if the possible peer sought a wife in the neighborhood of Diplow, the only reasonable expectation was that he would offer his hand to Catherine, who, however, would not accept him unless he were in all respects fitted to secure her happiness. Indeed, even to his wife the rector was silent as to the contemplation of any matrimonial result, from the probability that Mr.
It had no reference to the results of the American war, but it was one which touched all classes within a certain circuit round Wanchester: the corn-factors, the brewers, the horse-dealers, and saddlers, all held it a laudable thing, and one which was to be rejoiced in on abstract grounds, as showing the value of an aristocracy in a free country like England; the blacksmith in the hamlet of Diplow felt that a good time had come round; the wives of laboring men hoped their nimble boys of ten or twelve would be taken into employ by the gentlemen in livery; and the farmers about Diplow admitted, with a tincture of bitterness and reserve that a man might now again perhaps have an easier market or exchange for a rick of old hay or a wagon-load of straw.
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