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Pascoe how bad the blight was on her potatoes. Mrs. Durrant talked energetically; Mrs. Pascoe listened submissively. The boy Curnow knew that Mrs. Durrant was saying that it is perfectly simple; you mix the powder in a gallon of water; "I have done it with my own hands in my own garden," Mrs. Durrant was saying. "You won't have a potato left you won't have a potato left," Mrs.
Durrant sat in the drawing-room by a lamp winding a ball of wool. Mr. Clutterbuck read the Times. In the distance stood a second lamp, and round it sat the young ladies, flashing scissors over silver-spangled stuff for private theatricals. Mr. Wortley read a book. "Yes; he is perfectly right," said Mrs. Durrant, drawing herself up and ceasing to wind her wool. And while Mr.
"Mis' William don't come here, I expect?" she asked mysteriously. "She never was no great of a visitor. Yes, she comes sometimes," answered Maria Durrant. "I understood William had forbid her till you'd got away, if she was your own cousin." "We're havin' no trouble together. What do you mean?" Maria demanded. "Well, my hearing ain't good."
All passed out at the open door. "When you are as old as I am, Charlotte," said Mrs. Durrant, drawing the girl's arm within hers as they paced up and down the terrace. "Why are you so sad?" Charlotte asked impulsively. "Do I seem to you sad? I hope not," said Mrs. Durrant. "Well, just now. You're NOT old." "Old enough to be Timothy's mother." They stopped. Miss Eliot was looking through Mr.
Two barrel-organs played by the kerb, and horses coming out of Aldridge's with white labels on their buttocks straddled across the road and were smartly jerked back. Mrs. Durrant, sitting with Mr. Wortley in a motor-car, was impatient lest they should miss the overture. But Mr. Wortley, always urbane, always in time for the overture, buttoned his gloves, and admired Miss Clara.
"Why don't the young people settle it, eh?" he wanted to ask. "What's all this about England?" a question poor Clara could not have answered, since, as Mrs. Durrant discussed with Sir Edgar the policy of Sir Edward Grey, Clara only wondered why the cabinet looked dusty, and Jacob had never come. Oh, here was Mrs. Cowley Johnson...
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