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Updated: May 16, 2025
"As they are, however, it seems to you best to vote for Father Frontford, and you have a kindness for me that makes you come and tell me your reason. I'm glad you do me the justice to believe that I won't misunderstand." "Oh, I was sure you wouldn't misunderstand. You see, Mrs. Frostwinch has been so good to my family. I have seven children, Mr. Strathmore, all under ten."
"Oh, no," the hostess responded. "Mrs. Frostwinch is to talk to you. That is what you people are here for. I am only to listen." Edith had invited Helen and Mrs. Frostwinch to take luncheon with her, and she had really done it to bring these two more closely together.
"It is not for me to judge," said he, "but the way in which all sorts of heresies and strange doctrines are taught and played with in Boston seems to me monstrous. The persons of influence who lend their names and aid" He broke off suddenly, recalled by the half-smile in her eyes to the fact that he was condemning her. "There is much in what you say," Mrs. Frostwinch assented.
"How can the church endure if this goes on?" They talked for some time longer, and Mrs. Frostwinch assured him that she would do her best to secure the votes of the clergymen who were her pensioners. Ashe left her with a pleasant feeling in his heart that he had accomplished his mission without sacrificing his convictions.
Staggchase glanced up with a smile. "Just now," she remarked, "before you are plunged in the study of the law, you may do escort duty for me. I am going to call on Berenice Morison." "On Miss Morison?" "Yes. Her grandmother is staying with her. Mr. Frostwinch has gone abroad, you know, and as the old house belongs to Bee, she is staying on there." "But but she won't care to see me."
"If you will swear not to tell the disgraceful fact," Mrs. Frostwinch said, "I'll confess that I abhor Walt Whitman; but that one dreadful, disreputably slangy phrase of his, 'I loaf and invite my soul, echoes through my brain like an invitation to Paradise." Edith smiled. "If Arthur were here," she returned, "he would probably say that you think you mean that, but that really you don't."
Besides, nobody can successfully talk religion to a woman but a man." Maurice smiled in spite of himself at the air with which this was said, but he none the less felt that Mrs. Wilson was flippant. "What influence has Mrs. Frostwinch?" he asked. "Well," Mrs.
He understands that perfectly." For some minutes Berenice sat smoothing the invalid's hand, the firelight glancing on her face and hair. "How pretty you are, Bee," Mrs. Frostwinch said at length. Then without pause she added: "Is there anybody else?" Bee sank backward into the shadow with a quick, instinctive movement, dropping the hand she held. "Who should there be?" she returned.
The sick woman did not suffer; she seemed merely to be fading out of life; to have lost her hold upon something which was slipping from her loosened grasp. "The fact is, Bee," Mrs. Frostwinch said one day, "that the doctors say I'm dead. I'm beginning to believe it myself, and when I'm fully convinced, I suppose that that'll be the end." "Oh, don't joke about it, Cousin Anna," cried Bee.
"He is a young man of extraordinary genius. I saw a beautiful notice of him in the Daily Observer the other morning, Mr. Rangely," she continued, turning to Fred, "and Mrs. Frostwinch said she thought you wrote it. It was very appreciative." "Yes, I wrote it," he responded, not very warmly. "Mr. Stanton is endorsed by Mr. Calvin, you know, Mr. Irons; and Mr.
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