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Updated: June 13, 2025
"Fanny is a good girl!" and Fanny, as she spoke, went back to Morton, and put her little fingers into her eyes, as if either to shut out Gawtrey's retreat from her sight, or to press back her tears. "Give me the doll now, sister Marie."
Gregg old fellow with one eye, you recollect shake him by the hand just so you catch the trick practise it again. No, the forefinger thus, that's right. Say 'blater, no more 'blater; stay, I will write it down for you; and then ask for William Gawtrey's direction.
And Philip's own childhood came back to him as he gazed on the quiet of the lonely place. The door opened an infant voice was heard, a voice of glee-of rapture; and a child, light and beautiful as a fairy, bounded to Gawtrey's breast. Nestling there, she kissed his face, his hands, his clothes, with a passion that did not seem to belong to her age, laughing and sobbing almost at a breath.
Never were parted cherries brighter than her dewy lips; and the colour of the open neck and the rounded arms was of a whiteness still more dazzling, from the darkness of the hair and the carnation of the glowing cheek. Suddenly Fanny started from Gawtrey's arms, and running up to Morton, gazed at him wistfully, and said, in French: "Who are you? Do you come from the moon? I think you do."
My poor son! he did not die in want, did he?" The particulars of Gawtrey's fate, with his real name and the various aliases he had assumed, had appeared in the French journals, had been partially copied into the English; and Morton had expected to have been saved the painful narrative of that fearful death; but the utter seclusion of the old man, his infirmity, and his estranged habits, had shut him out from the intelligence that it now devolved on Philip to communicate.
Gawtrey, nodding to his comrade and giving a hurried bow to the host, descended also. As they passed the porter's lodge, they found Lilburne on the step of his carriage; he turned his head abruptly, and again met Mr. Gawtrey's eye; paused a moment, and whispered over his shoulder: "So we remember each other, sir? Let us not meet again; and, on that condition, bygones are bygones."
"No, sir; he seemed a smart but common sort of lad." For the unsophisticated Madame Dufour did not discover in the plain black frock and drab gaiters of the bearer of that letter the simple livery of an English gentleman's groom. Whom could it come from, if not from Madame de Merville? Perhaps one of Gawtrey's late friends.
My poor son! he did not die in want, did he?" The particulars of Gawtrey's fate, with his real name and the various aliases he had assumed, had appeared in the French journals, had been partially copied into the English; and Morton had expected to have been saved the painful narrative of that fearful death; but the utter seclusion of the old man, his infirmity, and his estranged habits, had shut him out from the intelligence that it now devolved on Philip to communicate.
He was struck, and almost awed, by the profound gloom which lurked under Gawtrey's broad humour a gloom, not of temperament, but of knowledge. However in this, their second reunion, there was a greater gaiety than in their first; and under his host's roof Morton insensibly, but rapidly, recovered something of the early and natural tone of his impetuous and ardent spirits.
"Fanny is a good girl!" and Fanny, as she spoke, went back to Morton, and put her little fingers into her eyes, as if either to shut out Gawtrey's retreat from her sight, or to press back her tears. "Give me the doll now, sister Marie."
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