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Updated: May 23, 2025
The next came in the sudden appearance of a person called "Milly" I've forgotten her surname whom I found in his room one evening, simply attired in a blue wrap the rest of her costume behind the screen smoking cigarettes and sharing a flagon of an amazingly cheap and self-assertive grocer's wine Ewart affected, called "Canary Sack." "Hullo!" said Ewart, as I came in. "This is Milly, you know.
The two latter were dressed shabbily, while the Count himself was in dark-grey, with a soft felt hat the perfect counterfeit of the foreign courier. With enthusiasm I was welcomed into the corner. "Well?" asked Bindo, with a laugh, "and how do you like your new wife, Ewart?" and the others smiled. "Charming," I replied. "But I don't see exactly where the joke comes in."
"But surely she hasn't long been out of the schoolroom." "Schoolroom!" echoed Regnier. And both men burst out laughing. "Look here, Ewart," he said, "you'd better get on that demon automobile of yours and run back to your own London. You're far too innocent to be here, on the Côte d'Azur, in Carnival time." "And yet I fancy I know the Riviera and its ways as well as most men," I remarked.
Her hair had been dressed by a maid of the first order, and as she stood pulling on her long gloves she looked superb. "How do you find me, my dear M'sieur Ewart? Do I look like a comtesse?" she asked, laughing. "You look perfectly charming, mademoiselle." "Liane, if you please," she said reprovingly, holding up her slim forefinger.
A man who had lately recovered from a fever, and was still weak, was seized with violent cramps in his legs and feet; which were removed by opiates, except that one of his feet remained insensible. Mr. Ewart pricked him with a pin in five or six places, and the patient declared he did not feel it in the least, nor was he sensible of a very smart pinch.
It was the gay boulevardier whom I had seen on the Jetée Promenade. "Why do you warn me?" I inquired, surprised at the reveller's grave face, so different from what it had been when he had shaken his bells and sung the merry chorus of "La Noire." "Because you're acting the fool, Ewart," Regnier replied. "I'm merely taking them about on the car."
"Look here, Ewart," the Count exclaimed, with scarcely a trace of his Italian accent, after he had lit a cigarette: "I want to give you certain instructions. We have a very intricate and ticklish affair to deal with. But I trust you implicitly, after that affair of the pretty Mademoiselle Valentine. I know you're not the man to lose your head over a pretty face. Only fools do that.
"This is my new chauffeur, Ewart, an expert. Ewart, these are my friends Sir Charles Blythe," indicating the elder man, "and Mr. Henderson. These gentlemen will perhaps be with us sometimes, so you had better know them." The pair looked me up and down and smiled pleasantly.
"At this time the son of the latter was but three years of age. Shortly afterwards that is, as soon as he was able to understand anything of public men, and public movements and events" says G.B. Smith, "the name of Canning began to exercise that strange fascination over the mind of William Ewart Gladstone which has never wholly passed away," and Mr.
This was the distinguished scholar and orator, William Ewart Gladstone, the son of Sir John Gladstone, a Scotch merchant who had settled in Liverpool. He was already a power in parliament, and every year after this saw him rising into greater prominence. In the new parliament, too, though not in the ministry, was another member, who afterwards rose to high office, and became very famous.
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