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Updated: June 27, 2025
Then McCurdie rose and met Biggleswade's eyes staring at him through the great round spectacles, and Biggleswade turned and met the eyes of Doyne. A pulsation like the beating of wings stirred the air. The three wise men shivered with a queer exaltation. Something strange, mystical, dynamic had happened. It was as if scales had fallen from their eyes and they saw with a new vision.
It was the strangest place I have ever seen a 'waste howling wilderness. And sometimes I fancy I can still hear the cry Doyne gave as he slipped or jumped from one of the black rocks into space. I remember how it came ringing back from the cliffs a hundred times repeated. It was "
The windows steamed, but here and there through a wiped patch of pane a white world was revealed. The snow was falling. As they passed through Westbury, McCurdie looked mechanically for the famous white horse carved into the chalk of the down; but it was not visible beneath the thick covering of snow. "It'll be just like this all the way to Gehenna Trehenna, I mean," said McCurdie. Doyne nodded.
"For God's sake let us get away from this," cried Biggleswade. "And leave the child to die, like the others?" said Doyne. "We must see it through," said McCurdie. A silence fell upon them as they sat round in the blaze with the new-born babe wrapped in its odd swaddling clothes asleep on the pile of fur coats, and it lasted until Sir Angus McCurdie looked at his watch.
Lord Doyne said nothing, but tugged at his moustache and looked out of the window as the frozen meadows and bits of river and willows raced past. A dead silence fell on them. McCurdie broke it with another laugh and took a whiskey flask from his hand-bag. "Have a nip?" "Thanks, no," said the Professor. "I have to keep to a strict dietary, and I only drink hot milk and water and of that sparingly.
Morrough's history up to date, and its rehearsal had at once the effect of arousing a sympathetic bustle about her, which did not subside until she sat a wet and wayworn guest, in the most comfortable hearth-corner, and had been provided with a cup of the tea that Mrs. Doyne had made herself in her character of an invalid.
Lord Doyne, the great administrator, who had been wearily turning over the pages of an illustrated weekly chiefly filled with flamboyant photographs of obscure actresses, took his gold glasses from his nose and the black cigar from his lips, and addressed his companions. "I've been considerably interested in your conversation," said he, "and as you've been frank, I'll be frank too. I knew Mrs.
McCurdie no longer railed, Professor Biggleswade forgot the dangers of bronchitis, and Lord Doyne twisted the stump of a black cigar between his lips without any desire to relight it. A tiny electric lamp inside the hood made the darkness of the world to right and left and in front of the talc windows still darker. McCurdie and Biggleswade fell into a doze. Lord Doyne chewed the end of his cigar.
Look at this insensate welter of fools travelling in wild herds to disgusting places merely because it's Christmas!" "You seem to be travelling yourself, McCurdie," said Lord Doyne. "Yes and why the devil I'm doing it, I've not the faintest notion," replied Sir Angus. "It's going to be a beast of a journey," he remarked some moments later, as the train carried them slowly out of the station.
As far as they could discern in the darkness when they drew near, the house was a mean, dilapidated hovel. A guttering candle stood on the inner sill of the small window and afforded a vague view into a mean interior. Doyne held up the lamp so that its rays fell full on the door. As he did so, an exclamation broke from his lips and he hurried forward, followed by the others.
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