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He walked to and fro along the platforms in the vast echoing cavern peopled with wandering lost souls, and at last a train came in from the void, and it had the air of a miracle, because nobody had believed that any train ever would come in. And at last the Turnham Green train came in, and George got into a smoking compartment, and Mr. Enwright was in the compartment. Mr.
You'll win that competition." "I shan't," he said. "But it's worth trying, for the experience that's what Enwright says." She said: "I don't care a fig what Enwright says. You'll win that competition. I'm always right when I sort of feel you know." For the moment he believed in the miraculous, inexplicable intuitions of women. "Oh!" she cried, as the invisible orchestra started a new tune.
He was a child, pretending to be an adult. He glanced like a child at Mr. Enwright; he roughened his hair with his hand like a child. He had the most wistful and apologetic air. He said: "I just came along here for a bit instead of going to bed. I didn't know it was so late." "Do you often just come along here?" "No. I never did it before. But to-night " "What is it you're at?"
"I for one am not going in for any more competitions with Corver as assessor," said Mr. Enwright. "I won't do it." Faces fell. Mr. Enwright had previously published this resolve, but it had not been taken quite seriously. It was entirely serious. Neuralgia and a baronetcy had given it the consistency of steel. "It isn't as if we hadn't got plenty of work in the office," said Mr. Enwright.
Enwright had remarked that any decent-minded man who had been a husband and childless for twenty-four years would have regarded the supplementary honour as an insult, but that Sir Hugh was not decent-minded and, moreover, was not capable of knowing an insult when he got one. This theory of Mr. Enwright's, however, did not a bit lessen his disgust. "Oh yes," John Orgreave admitted lamely.
Enwright, pointing to the under part of the stone bench that foots so much of the walls, had said: "Look at that curve." Nothing else. No ecstasies about the sculptures of Jean Goujon and Carpeaux, or about the marvellous harmony of the East facade! But a flick of the cane towards the half-hidden moulding!
Then the faint glow of the lamp that was the indication of Harry San's real business lit his pale face, and I knew that I had seen him last in the cool evening at Interlaken, where Limehouse could not have lived a moment, with the Jungfrau frowning down upon it. "Enwright?" whispered Hughes. "Not a doubt of it!" said I. "Good!" he replied with fervor.
The fellow had no artistic perceptions; he was a child. By some means he had got through his Final, and was soon to be a junior partner in Enwright & Lucas. George, however, did not envy Everard the soft situation; he only pitied Enwright & Lucas. Everard had often urged George to go to musical comedies more frequently, hinting that they were frightfully better than George could conceive.
"One or two of these are rather interesting." "Oh! I don't mean the lithographs. You know those are all Jack's affairs. I mean well, the room. Now do pay me a compliment." The other guests listened. Enwright gave a little self-conscious smile, characteristic of him in these dilemmas, half kind and half malicious.
The design for the Indian barracks existed complete; and middle-aged mediocrity could carry it out in a fashion, and Lucas & Enwright could carry it out better than he could carry it out himself. As for Davids, he had written. There was nothing else of importance in his office. The other competition had not been won.
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