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Updated: May 28, 2025
Ther' was a time, in the days when they talked of it bein' ha'nted, you'd hear folks call it Eberdeen Manor; but not no, and my father likely's been dead these forty years now never, Mr. Eberdeen's house!" "'Mr. Eberdeen there was such a person, then? "'There'll be a time, me boy, when they'll doubt yerself was a living thing. He straightened his bent body reprehensibly; he shook his head.
Hastings awkwardly withdrew his right hand, which had been resting palm downward on his knee, and thrust it into his pocket. "Julia," he cried out, in characteristic disregard of all context, "suppose Mr. Eberdeen should turn out to have been well a relative, or something?
He could not eat. No, he wasn't at all hungry. Why was it so chilly? he thought. Doubtless he had picked up a germ. The house, he muttered to himself, was on his nerves. It was so everlastingly gloomy! Julia had reinhabited it too authentically. "Eberdeen Manor" "Mr. Eberdeen's House." What names!
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