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Updated: June 19, 2025
'It is a name you won't be likely to have once, let alone four hundred times! the lawyer answered, with a little pride heaven knows why. 'What may it be, then? the clerk asked, fairly put on his mettle. And he drew out a pair of glasses, and settling them on his forehead looked fixedly at his companion. 'Fishwick. 'Fishwick! Fishwick?
He died the year after the child was born, and she came to lodge with me, and lived by teaching, as he had; but 'twas a poor livelihood, you may say, and when she sickened, she died just as a candle goes out. 'When? Mr. Fishwick asked, his eyes glued to the woman's face. 'The week Jim Masterson came to see us bringing the child from foreign parts that was buried with her.
It was formally directed after the fashion of those days 'To Mr. Peter Fishwick, Attorney at Law, at Wallingford in Berkshire, by favour of Sir George Soane of Estcombe, Baronet. 'Lord save us, 'tis an honour, the attorney muttered. 'What is it? and with shaking hands he cut the thread that confined the packet. The letter, penned by Dr.
'But and with that it flashed on him, and on the servant, and on Mr. Fishwick, who had just jogged up and dismounted, what had happened. The carriage and Julia Julia still in the hands of her captors were gone. And with them was gone Mr. Dunborough!
"The characters in the book are all entertaining, and many of them are droll, while a few, like the conscientious Mr. Fishwick, the attorney, and the cringing parasite, Mr. Thomasson, are, in their own way, masterpieces of character study. Take it all in all, 'The Castle Inn' is in many ways the best work which has yet come from Mr. Weyman's pen." "Mr.
'Then, if I may make so bold, what is't to you? she retorted. 'Do you come from Jim Masterson? 'He is dead, Mr. Fishwick answered. She threw up her hands. 'Lord! And he a young man, so to speak! Poor Jim! Poor Jim! It is ten years and more ay, more since I heard from him. And the child? Is that dead too?
'Ay, trick, man. But before I send for the constable 'The constable? shrieked Mr. Fishwick. Truth to tell, it had been his own idea to storm the splendours of the Castle Inn; and for certain reasons he had carried it in the teeth of his companions' remonstrances.
Soap and water, a good meal, and a brief dog's sleep, in which Soane had no share he spent the night walking up and down and from which Mr. Fishwick was continually starting with cries and moanings, did something to put them in better plight, if in no better temper.
Peter Fishwick, Attorney-at-Law, not in the glory of brass, but painted in white letters on the green door, undeceived him; and, opening the wicket of the tiny garden, he knocked with the head of his cane on the door. The appearance of a stately gentleman in a laced coat and a sword, waiting outside Fishwick's, opened half the doors in the street; but not that one at which Sir George stood.
'I have my own lawyers in London, he said stiffly. 'I thought I made it clear that I did not need your services further. Mr. Fishwick rubbed his hands. 'I have that from your own lips, Sir George, he said. 'Mrs. Masterson, my good woman, you heard that? Sir George glowered at him. 'Lord, man? he said. 'Why so much about nothing? What on earth has this woman to do with it? Mr.
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