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Updated: May 27, 2025
Or rather," she added, giving up the prospect again, "it would be, I think, quite extraordinarily flattering if he did. Except that of course," she threw in, "he might come partly for you." "'Partly' is charming. Thank you for 'partly. If you ARE going upstairs, will you kindly," Mrs Dyott pursued, "put these into the box as you pass?"
This parish is bounded on the south by Castle Street; east by part of Drury Lane, Broad Street, and Dyott Street, thence by a line cutting diagonally across the south-east corner of Bedford Square, across Keppel Street and Torrington Mews, and touching Byng Place at the north-west corner of Torrington Square; on the north by a line cutting across from this point westward, and striking Tottenham Court Road just above Alfred Mews; on the westward by Tottenham Court Road and Charing Cross Road to Cambridge Circus, thence by West Street to the corner of Castle Street, and so the circuit is complete.
"Oh then we must try and keep her together. But why, graceful tender, pretty too quite or almost as she is doesn't she re- marry?" Mrs. Dyott appeared and as if the first time to look for the reason. "Because she likes too many men." It kept up his spirits. "And how many MAY a lady like ?" "In order not to like any of them too much? Ah that, you know, I never found out and it's too late now.
"Oh you dear thing!" Her friend was amused, yet almost showed pity. "I know you don't read," Maud went on; "but why should you? YOU live!" "Yes wretchedly enough," Mrs. Dyott returned, getting her letters together. She left her place, holding them as a neat achieved handful, and came over to the fire, while Mrs. Blessingbourne turned once more to the window, where she was met by another flurry.
"But doesn't it prove that life is, against your contention, more interesting than art? Life you embellish and elevate; but art would find itself able to do nothing with you, and, on such impossible terms, would ruin you." The colour in her faint consciousness gave beauty to her stare. "'Ruin' me?" "He means," Mrs. Dyott again indicated, "that you'd ruin 'art."
"You might while you were about it have burnt that too." "You've read it?" "Dear yes. And you?" "No," said Mrs. Dyott; "it wasn't for me Maud brought it." It pulled her visitor up. "Mrs. Blessingbourne brought it?" "For such a day as this." But she wondered. "How you look! Is it so awful?" "Oh like his others." Something had occurred to him; his thought was already far. "Does she know?"
"As pretty a wench as man ever clapped eyes on. Wake up, Lance, and look at her." The portly man of genial aspect sitting in the corner of the bow window of the Maiden Head Inn at the High Street end of Dyott Street in the very heart of St. Giles, clapped his sleeping friend on the shoulder and shook him.
It doesn't exist." "What is it?" Mrs. Dyott desired to know. "I never look," Maud remarked, "for anything but an interest." "Naturally. But your interest," Voyt replied, "is in something different from life." "Ah not a bit! I LOVE life in art, though I hate it anywhere else. It's the poverty of the life those people show, and the awful bounders, of both sexes, that they represent."
There they are once more, as one has had them to satiety, in that yellow thing, and there I shall certainly again find them in the blue." "Then why do you keep reading about them?" Mrs. Dyott demanded. Maud cast about. "I don't!" she sighed. "At all events, I shan't any more. I give it up." "You've been looking for something, I judge," said Colonel Voyt, "that you're not likely to find.
There had been a question of Colonel Voyt's probable return on the Sunday, but the whole time passed without a sign from him, and it was merely mentioned by Mrs. Dyott, in explanation, that he must have been suddenly called, as he was so liable to be, to town. That this in fact was what had happened he made clear to her on Thursday afternoon, when, walking over again late, he found her alone.
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