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Updated: May 11, 2025
Every man has his private ethical methods, and this was the way in which Arthur Fenton's mind held itself in regard to that right of which he often denied the existence.
Then, pitching on a note which brought the tune well within the compass of even Fenton's growling bass, he began the school songs, "Adsis musa canentibus Laeta voce canentibus Longos clara per annos Haileyburia floreat." House feeling, local patriotism to the tune of "The Maiden of Bashful Fifteen," was well enough.
"I think that is the right description," said Luke, eagerly. "Can you tell me anything about him?" "The party I mean, he may be Harding, or may be somebody else, is lying sick at Fenton's Gulch, about a day's journey from here say twenty miles." "Sick? What is the matter with him?" "He took a bad cold, and being an old man, couldn't stand it as well as if he were twenty years younger.
A telegraph company had an office in the basement of the palace. Here she wrote a message to Jarley Jawkins, which was worded: "Must postpone journey three weeks. Leave me alone until then. When she had dispatched this she bade the driver stop at Fenton's, where she picked up her husband and took him to Greenwich for a quiet fish dinner.
She might find him there when she arrived, perhaps; for he knew nothing of this journey to London, or could only hear of it at the Grange, where she had left a letter for him, enclosing that brief note of Gilbert Fenton's which had informed her of her grandfather's fatal illness.
Broome, an his preface to his poems, declares himself the commentator "in part upon the 'Iliad," and it appears from Fenton's letter, preserved in the Museum, that Broome was at first engaged in consulting Eustathius; but that after a time, whatever was the reason, he desisted.
He remembered when his own French car had overshadowed Fenton's Ford. There were wreaths to-night in the club windows, and when Sands opened the doors there was a mass of poinsettia against the hall mirror. How warm it looked with all that gold and red! In the basement was the grill. It was a night when one might order something heavy and hot.
The thing that offends an honest man in Bishop Blougram is the fact that he looks at religion as if it were an art, and not a vital and eternal necessity, a living truth that cannot be trifled with." "Ah," Fenton's smooth and beautiful voice rejoined, "that is to confound art with the artificial, which is an obvious error.
The Old Bailey, from its nearness to Smithfield was crowded, and the buxom proprietress of Fenton's coffee house was hard put to it to serve her clamorous customers and to see that she wasn't cheated or robbed. Mrs. Fenton had improved in appearance as well as in circumstances since she had come from Bedfordbury to the Old Bailey.
She looked around the familiar studio with a sweeping, panting glance; then she turned again to Fenton, clasping both his hands with one of hers. "Think of what I have done for you," she said; "and write me about him. I shall die if you do not." And there shot through Fenton's mind a sense of the terrible tragedy which lay in such an appeal for such an end.
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