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Updated: June 29, 2025
And yet he was not free to leave his father's house; for he did not see how, as things were going, he could leave his mother. He was not free to ask his friends there either; not, that was to say, friends who were strangers to his father and the Headache. Above all, he was not free to ask Winny Dymond.
And there was a woman in it anyhow, to judge by the little that had transpired at the magisterial examination, and the fact that the country was placarded with bills offering a reward for information concerning a Miss Jessie Dymond. Their Majesties, Victoria and the Law, were represented by Mr. Robert Spigot, Q.C. Mr.
Spotless and intact she had kept it. Spotless and intact no doubt it would be kept when, in six months' time, she in turn would hand it over to Winny Dymond, to Ranny's second wife. He had only just told her. That was what hurt her most, that she had only just been told, when for more than two years he had been thinking of it.
He had walked with her for five minutes, wheeling his bicycle in the gutter, while they settled how and where they were to meet. She was living in Wandsworth, lodging in St. Ann's Terrace, near to Winny Dymond, so that Winny could take care of her. She had got another situation at Starker's, in the millinery department.
These white things came tumbling and tossing toward him from the gray confines of the slime; urged by a persistent and abominable life, they were borne perpetually on the darkness and were perpetually thrust back into it by his terror. He turned the letter and read it to the end, to the last scribble on the margin: "You should have married a girl like Winny Dymond."
And you could trust Boots to pay up any day. So that he was properly floored when Boots, in a thick, earnest voice, explained the nature of the service he required that he, Ransome, should go with him, nightly, to a convenient corner of Oxford Street, and there collar that kid, Winny Dymond, and lug her along. "Do you mean," asked Ransome, "walk home with her?"
What the money was for he did not know, except that it was somehow connected with an act of abnegation in which he had vaguely encouraged her. The girl had since disappeared, and he was in distress about her. He would not tell me who it was of course now, sir, you know as well as I it was Jessie Dymond but asked for advice as to how to set about finding her.
He said he had just received a mysterious letter from Miss Dymond saying she was gone. In answer to his most ungentlemanly raging and raving, she told him it served him right, as he should have looked after her better, and not kept away for so long. He then called her a liar and left her, and she hoped never to see his face again, though she was not surprised to see it in the dock. Mr.
And he hurried off to the little dug-out that served him as a dressing station, his beloved drink standing untouched on the table. Meanwhile, Roger Dymond crouched up against the parapet, and listened to the explosions all around him.
He said it was all right, only he didn't know what on earth he was to say to her. Booty recovered his natural airiness. "Oh," he threw it off, "you say nothing." And for the first night or so, as far as Ransome could remember, that was what he did say. And he wasn't really clever at collaring her, either. There was something elusive, fugitive, uncatchable about Winny Dymond.
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