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Updated: May 27, 2025
The woman stood straight upright, with her hands clasped behind her, before the deal table. She gazed, under lowered brows, straight out of window; and following that gaze, I saw across the coombe a mean mud hut, with a wall around it, that looked on Sheba Farm with the obtrusive humility of a poor relation. "Does she does Sarah Gedye live down yonder?"
She looked at me, shook off a bee that had blundered against her apron, and looked at me again a brown woman, lean and strongly made, with jet-black eyes set deep and glistening in an ugly face. "You want to know your way?" she asked. "No. I came to see you, if your name is Sarah Gedye." "Sarah Ann Gedye is my name. What 'st want?" I took a sudden resolution to tell the exact truth. "Mrs.
"Once they get going " said Mr Gedye, and pulled out a drawerful of staples so far that it upset and spilled its contents in an avalanche on the dark floor behind the counter. "I knew a ship's captain once, a Russian that married a woman over to Troy and would go to sleep for a week on end every time he came home from a voyage.
Mr Hendy had handed him five shillings and fourpence change with his quittance, and on his way home he made a detour to hobble into Mr Gedye's shop "S. Gedye, Ironmonger and Ship-Chandler" and purchase two staples, a hasp, and a stout padlock, with key.
But her blue eyes though now they narrowed on me suspiciously must have looked out magnificently in their day. "I fancy," said I, meeting them frankly enough, "that what you know and I don't on that matter would make a good deal." She laughed harshly, almost savagely. "You'd better ask Sarah Gedye, across the coombe.
To-morrow he might venture to visit Mrs Pengelly and purchase a new and more capacious pair of trousers to-morrow, or perhaps the day after. Caution was necessary. He had already astonished Mr Gedye, the ironmonger, with his affluence: and just now again, like a fool, he had been dropping sovereigns about Latter's bar-parlour. That had been an awkward moment.
Gedye, the fact is I am curious about an old charm that was practised in these parts, as I know, till recently. The charm is this When a woman guesses her lover to be faithless to her, she buries a suit of his old clothes to fetch him back to her. Mrs. Bolverson, up at Sheba yonder " But as Mrs. Bolverson's name escaped me, she turned her back, and walked straight to her door and into the kitchen.
Mr Gedye, selecting these articles with a care that was slow torture to his customer, opined that the weather was settled at last, and trusted it would assist the Russians in mobilising. The slower Mr Gedye became, the more ardently he repeated an expression of hope that the Russians would hurry up.
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