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Updated: June 23, 2025
"I suppose," said Jolly, "it's the second God, you mean, that old Balthasar had a sense of." "Yes, or he would never have burst his poor old heart because of something outside himself." "But wasn't that just selfish emotion, really?" Jolyon shook his head. "No, dogs are not pure Forsytes, they love something outside themselves." Jolly smiled. "Well, I think I'm one," he said.
Generations might be born, and hats might change, wars be fought, and Forsytes fade away, but Thomas Gradman, faithful and grey, would take his daily walk and buy his daily vegetable.
A flush mounted in Val's cheeks that scene in the Pandemonium promenade the dark man with the pink carnation developing into his own father! "But you know what the Forsytes are," he said almost viciously. "Oh! I forgot; you don't." "What are they?" "Oh! fearfully careful; not sportsmen a bit. Look at Uncle Soames!" "I'd like to," said Holly. Val resisted a desire to run his arm through hers.
For such was still the prestige of old Jolyon that the other Forsytes could never quite feel, as might have been expected, that it was they who had cut off his descendants for irregularity.
It was a simple affair, for there were none of those vexatious little legacies and donations to charities, which fritter away a man's possessions, and damage the majestic effect of that little paragraph in the morning papers accorded to Forsytes who die with a hundred thousand pounds. A simple affair.
In the hotels, filled with British Forsytes for old Jolyon could not bear a 'set of Germans, as he called all foreigners she was looked upon with respect the only grand-daughter of that fine-looking, and evidently wealthy, old Mr. Forsyte.
"The great majority of architects, painters, or writers have no principles, like any other Forsytes. Art, literature, religion, survive by virtue of the few cranks who really believe in such things, and the many Forsytes who make a commercial use of them. At a low estimate, three-fourths of our Royal Academicians are Forsytes, seven-eighths of our novelists, a large proportion of the press.
Winifred, who in the late seventies, before her marriage, had been in the vanguard of freedom, pleasure, and fashion, confessed her youth outclassed by the donzellas of the day. The steadiness of her children often amazed one who remembered their father; but, as she was fond of believing, they were really all Forsytes, favouring herself, with the exception perhaps of Imogen.
The seven women whom he had addressed broke into a subdued murmur, out of which emerged Francie's, "Really, the Forsytes!" and Aunt Juley's: "He must have his feet in mustard and hot water to-night, Hester; will you tell Jane? The blood has gone to his head again, I'm afraid...."
Just as it would surely have been endorsed by that wider body of Forsytes all over London, who were merely excluded from judgment by ignorance of the story. In spite then of Emily's efforts, the dinner was served by Warmson and the footman almost in silence. Dartie was sulky, and drank all he could get; the girls seldom talked to each other at any time.
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