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Updated: May 15, 2025
The blinds were still all drawn down, but he lingered and walked past the house two or three times. He had come there to take a last look at the bricks and mortar of that house before he went to Eastthorpe, under vow till death to permit no word of love to pass his lips, to be betrayed into no emotion warmer than that of man to man.
Eastthorpe was a malting town, and down by the water were two or three large malthouses. The view from the bridge was not particularly picturesque, but it was pleasant, especially in summer, when the wind was south-west.
There was a small factory in Eastthorpe in which a couple of grindstones were used which were turned by water- power at considerable speed. One of them had broken at a flaw. It had flown to pieces while revolving, and had nearly caused a serious accident. The owner called at Mr. Furze's to buy another.
It was Tom, then, who had prevented admission into Eastthorpe society. Mr. Tom Catchpole had never had any schooling. What he had learned he had learned by himself, and the books he had read were but few, and chosen rather by chance.
The stone bridge was deeply recessed, and in each recess was a stone seat. In the last recess but one, at the north end, and on the east side, there sat daily, some few years before 1840, a blind man, Michael Catchpole by name, selling shoelaces. He originally came out of Suffolk, but he had lived in Eastthorpe ever since he was a boy, and had worked for Mr. Furze's father.
She had eaten and drunk and slept amidst the dirty rags of Eastthorpe, but Mike could not. Fortunately the cottage was at the end of the alley. One window looked out on it, but the door was in a kind of indentation in it round the corner. On the right-hand side of the door was the room looking into the alley, and this Mike made his shop; on the left was a little cupboard of a living-room.
She explained what her errand had been, and added that she preferred the bypath because she was able to avoid the dusty Eastthorpe lane. "I do not know these Crowhursts," said Mr. Cardew; "they are Dissenters, I believe." The subject dropped, and Catharine had not another word to say about Phoebe. "You look fatigued and as if you were not very well."
Bellamy what was going to happen, begged her not to say anything to Catharine about it. Mr. Bellamy's farm of Westchapel Chapel Farm it was usually called- -lay about half a mile from Lampson's Ford, and about five miles from Eastthorpe.
She would perhaps have been able to distract herself with the thousand and one subjects which are now got up for examinations, or she would perhaps. have seriously studied some science, which might at least have been effectual as an opiate in suppressing sensibility. She was, however, in Eastthorpe before the new education, as it is called, had been invented.
That which makes for our destruction, everything that is horrible, seems spontaneously active, and the opposition is an everlasting struggle. At last the effect upon Catharine's health was so obvious that Mrs. Bellamy was alarmed, and went over to Eastthorpe to see Mrs. Furze. Mrs.
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