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Updated: May 24, 2025
Not Faircloth's letter very, very far from that! but the inward conflict of opposing loves, opposing duties, which meditation upon his letter so distractingly produced. Relatively all, outside that conflict and the dear cause of it, was of small moment mere play stuff at best. But her brain and conscience were tired. She would be so glad, for a time, only to think about play stuff.
So it came about that once again, as Mary and her satellite Laura silently waited at table, and as Theresa very audibly gobbled food in and words out, Damaris shrank within herself seeming to hear a shrill sweet whistling and the shatter of loose pebbles and shifting shingle under Faircloth's pursuing feet.
So it was hardly surprising, in face of the dominant direction of her thoughts to-night, that, when the Miss Minetts' name punctuated Theresa's discourse recurrent as a cuckoo-cry, remembrance of their merrily inglorious retirement from the region of Faircloth's Inn should present itself. Whereupon Damaris' serious mood was lightened as by sudden sunshine, and she laughed.
The hot morning induced thirst, which, being allayed by a couple of pints at Faircloth's Inn, induced desire for a certain easiness of costume. His waistcoat hung open he had laid aside his coat displaying a broad stitched leather belt that covered the junction between buff corduroy trousers and blue-checked cotton shirt.
By then afternoon merged itself in early evening. Lights twinkled in the windows of the black cottages, upon the Island, and in those of Faircloth's inn. The sky flamed orange and crimson behind the sand-hills and Stone Horse Head. The air carried the tang of coming frost. Upon the hard gravel of the drive, the wheels of the dog-cart grated and the horse's hoofs rang loud.
She she wanted to tell Colonel Carteret about it, to enlist his interest, to read him, in part at least, Darcy Faircloth's letter, and hear his confirmation of the noble spirit she discerned in it, its poetry, its charm.
"Yes directly in a minute but, Mary, tell me who that is?" The woman hesitated. "Out on the Bar, do you mean? No one I am acquainted with, Miss." "I did not intend to ask if he was a friend of yours," Damaris returned, with a touch of grandeur, "but merely whether you could tell me his name." "Oh! it's Mrs. Faircloth's son I suppose the person who keeps the Inn.
Hadn't we best get into it, turn the horses' heads citywards again, and drink our tea, you and I, on the way up to the station somewhere very much else than on board this rough-and-tumble rather foul-breathed cargo boat? I'm so beastly afraid you may be disgusted and shocked by the interval between what you're accustomed to and what I am. To let you down" Faircloth's handsome face worked.
For they were so intimately, disturbingly alike, the father and the son, in voice as well as in build and feature. "Go East?" she said, Faircloth's declared preference for sailing into the sunrise present to her. "Why, I go East in my dreams nearly every night. I love it love it more rather than less as I grow older. Of course I wish to go some day. But that's by the way, Commissioner Sahib.
Cooper and I were fairly wild waiting down on the sea-wall with the lantern, thinking of drowning and worse, when" she glanced sharply at her companion and, lowering her eyes altered the position of the chair by a couple of inches "when Captain Faircloth's boat came up beside the breakwater and he carried Miss Damaris ashore and across the garden." "Stop" Theresa broke in "I do not follow you.
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