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Updated: June 7, 2025
"'Dorrie' is an extremely touching and realistic picture of Liverpool life. Mr. Tirebuck writes vigorously, and his story is certainly one of profound human interest." G. BARNETT SMITH, in The Academy. "Mr. Tirebuck has the root of the matter in him. 'Dorrie' is really a strong piece of work a decidedly interesting story." "Mr. Tirebuck has a real gift of story-telling to begin with.
All is going well, so 'be not afraid, only believe." "How can I ever express what is in my heart?" faltered Mrs. Seabrook, tears raining over her face. "You do not need to try, for I know it all, having once been almost where Dorrie seemed to be last night," her friend returned.
What a friend! How he understood her! How unworthy she was of the richness that flooded her life! It was then that Joan came in. She did not go close to Doris the physical touch was not the first impulse with either of them. "Aunt Dorrie, I have a letter from Sylvia Reed." Instantly Doris was stirred as Nancy had been. Mentally she braced.
What sin could an innocent child like Dorrie be guilty of, to bring upon her the curse of torture that she has endured for the last eight years?" cried Mrs. Seabrook, a note of intolerant anguish in her tones. "I know you will say theology teaches that it is the heredity sin of our first parents; but, Phillip, that is not fair nor just it is not logical reasoning.
But the reading of the books was postponed, for Dorrie began to droop again, and the faithful mother could scarcely be persuaded to leave her even for necessary food and sleep. Mrs. Minturn, Katherine and Sadie were all tireless in their efforts to do something to lighten her burdens.
"That is a very sweet thought, Dorrie, and it is true enough, too," said her mother, as she bestowed a fond look upon Katherine. "But," she added, moving towards the door, "we must go home this very minute, for it is getting late," and with general "good- nights" they also went away.
"Lorraine?" said his sister "dear me, I am dying to see her." "Then turn around," whispered Betty Castlemaine, leaning across from Cecil's arm. "Oh, Dorrie! what a beauty!" At the same moment the old vicomte rose from his gilded chair and stepped forward to the threshold, saying, "Lorraine! Lorraine! Then you have come at last, little bad one?"
"They are blessed hands, Nan." Raymond went behind Nancy's chair and fixed his eyes upon Joan he was almost pleading with her to have done with the dangerous play. "Aunt Dorrie?" Joan turned to her, ignoring Raymond. "My hands can tell you nothing, Joan, dear," Doris said; "I've been a coward. See, my hands are flabby inside the hands of a woman who has had much too easy a time.
She took for granted that it had been in Chicago, and when Joan told of flitting away from the young doctor who had saved her, Doris laughingly said: "Joan, that was cruel. You should have explained." "No, Aunt Dorrie, it was wise. Of course I'm going to explain to him and send him the money, but I wanted to shut the door on my silly past first.
Of course, Dorrie, you and I haven't budded very much so far, but with an artist and a prima donna in a family, we'll have to begin our song of triumph pretty soon. I'll bet a cookie she'll go up there in the pasture every day and do her vocal practicing out of hearing of the 'cello, and Helenita will perch on the nearest rock and play echo."
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