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Updated: June 8, 2025
Breakspeare inwardly laughing at himself and the company? But he seemed to be an excitable little man, and possibly believed what he said. "That's very interesting," Dyce remarked. "And how much longer will Hollingford be content with such representation?" "I think," replied Breakspeare, gravely, "I really think, that at the next election we shall floor him. It is the hope of my life.
She passed the point, and began to ask the news from Hollingford. Who would be the Conservative candidate? They talked, said Dyce, of a stranger to the town, a man named Butterworth, one of Robb's private friends. "It's Butterworth of the hoardings Butterworth's jams and pickles, you know. He's made a million out of them, and now thinks of turning his energies to the public service.
Woolstan panted and fluttered and regarded Lashmar with eyes of agitated appeal. "If you think I ought to have held out please say just what you think let us be quite frank and comradelike with each other I can write to Mr. Wrybolt." "Tell me plainly," said Dyce, leaning towards her. "What was your reason for giving way at once? You really think, don't you, that it will be better for the boy?"
"Would it surprise you, when you do come, to be met with the news that Lord Dymchurch has proposed to Miss Tomalin and been accepted?" "Indeed," Dyce answered, smiling, "it would surprise me very much." "Which is as much as to say that I was right, just now, in refusing to believe you. Do you know," Constance added, with fresh acerbity, "that you cut a very poor figure?
The lady, dating from a house at West Hampstead, wrote thus: "Dear Mr. Lashmar, "You will be surprised to hear from me so soon again. I particularly want to see you. Something has happened which we must talk over at once. I shall be alone tomorrow afternoon. Do come if you possibly can. "Sincerely yours, Dyce had come down in a mood less cheerful than that of over-night.
Didn't Lady Ogram mention it to you?" "Not a word," answered Dyce. "No doubt she had a reason for saying nothing. You, possibly, could suggest it?" His face had changed. There was cold annoyance in his look and in his voice. "It must have been mere accident," said May. "That it certainly wasn't. How long will Dymchurch stay?" "I have no idea, Mr. Lashmar. I must leave you.
I was very intimate with Harness, Milman, Dyce, Collier all Shakespearian editors, commentators, and scholars and this absurd theory about Bacon, which was first broached a good many years ago, never obtained credit for a moment with them; nor did they ever entertain for an instant a doubt that the plays attributed to William Shakespeare of Stratford-on-Avon were really written by him.
"Yes, honey, I am Mam' Dyce, and if I am spared, I will try to save your'n. That is what has brung me here. You are 'cused of the robb'ry and the murder, and you have denied it in the court; but chile, the lie-yers are aworking day and night fur to hang you, and little is made of much, on your side, and much is spun out of little, on theirn.
"If," said Dick Avenel to himself, as he returned fretfully homeward "if a man like me, who has done so much for British industry and go-a-head principles, is to be catawampously champed up by a mercenary, selfish cormorant of a capitalist like that interloping blockhead in drab breeches, Tom Dyce, all I can say is, that the sooner this cursed old country goes to the dogs, the better pleased I shall be.
We shall be alone; I want the full advantage of your talk. Afterwards, if you approve, we will look in upon an old friend of mine who would have great satisfaction in exchanging ideas with you. Something of an original; at all events you will find him amusing." To this relaxation Dyce looked forward with pleasure.
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