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Updated: June 21, 2025
Some what surprised, though not abashed, at the evident "not-at-home" look of the farm-house, Mr. Dyceworthy rapped loudly at the rough oaken door with his knuckles, there being no such modern convenience as a bell or a knocker. He waited sometime before he was answered, repeating his summons violently at frequent intervals, and swearing irreligiously under his breath as he did so.
He stopped, shrinking back in alarm from the suddenly raised fist of the young baronet. "You'd better be careful!" remarked Philip coolly, with dangerously flashing eyes; "there are four of us here, remember!" Mr. Dyceworthy coughed, and resumed an air of outraged dignity.
Dyceworthy. They had had a glorious day's sail, piloted by Valdemar Svensen, whose astonishment at seeing the Gueldmars on board the Eulalie was depicted in his face, but who prudently forebore from making any remarks thereon.
Dyceworthy, "but it is a fact that the Italian or Papist wines are often used here. The minister whose place I humbly endeavor to fill has his cellar stocked with them. The matter is easy of comprehension when once explained.
You are a Roman by which name we understand all that is most loathsome and unpleasing unto God! But I will wrestle for your soul, yea, night and day will I bend my spiritual sinews to the task, I will obtain the victory, I will exorcise the fiend! Alas, alas! you are on the brink of hell think of it!" and Mr. Dyceworthy stretched out his hand with his favorite pulpit gesture.
Dyceworthy could catch a glimpse through the trees of the principal thoroughfare of Bosekop a small, primitive street enough, of little low houses, which, though unpretending from without, were roomy and comfortable within.
That is the worst of me my blood is up in a minute, and old though I am, I'm not old enough yet to be patient. And when I hear the name of that sneak Dyceworthy by the gates of Valhalla, I feel as if my own house would not hold me! No, no; don't go yet! Nearly ten? Well, no matter, the night is like the day here, you see it doesn't matter when one goes to bed.
Cruel hand!" and he rolled his little eyes with an absurdly sentimental air of reproach. "It is shy it will not clasp the hand of its protector! Do not be afraid, Froeken! . . . I, Charles Dyceworthy, am not the man to trifle with your young affections! Let them rest where they have flown! I accept them!
Thus adjured, Philip swallowed a large gulp of wine, to keep down his feelings, and strove to appear interested in the habits and caprices of bees, a subject into which Mr. Dyceworthy had just inveigled Duprez and Macfarlane. "Come and see my bees," said the Reverend Charles almost pathetically.
It was answered at once by a tall, strongly built woman, with a colorless, stolid countenance, that might have been carved out of wood for any expression it had in it. "Ulrika," said Mr. Dyceworthy blandly, "you can clear the table."
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