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Updated: May 10, 2025
Early the next morning he carried over the dying girl and Georgey, who had been bribed to call her 'mamma. She entered the house as Mrs. Talboys; she was attended by a Ventnor medical man as Mrs. Talboys; she died, and her death and burial were registered in that name.
Aunt Chloe sat back in her chair, and indulged in a hearty guffaw of laughter, at this witticism of young Mas'r's, laughing till the tears rolled down her black, shining cheeks, and varying the exercise with playfully slapping and poking Mas'r Georgey, and telling him to go way, and that he was a case that he was fit to kill her, and that he sartin would kill her, one of these days; and, between each of these sanguinary predictions, going off into a laugh, each longer and stronger than the other, till George really began to think that he was a very dangerously witty fellow, and that it became him to be careful how he talked "as funny as he could."
His little heart was brim full of love, and his birds, and rabbits, and ponies were well enough, but they couldn't say, "Georgey, I love you;" neither could he make them understand what he was thinking about; so he wearied of them, and would often linger in the street, and look after the little groups of children so wistfully, that I quite pitied him.
She seemed to be plucking him from the hands of the dead, and half recognized that victory over uncontesting rivals claps the laurel-wreath rather rudely upon our heads. Emilia lost no time in running straight to Georgiana, who was busy at her writing-desk. She related what she had just heard, ending breathlessly: "Georgey! my dear! will you help them?"
There is a story of a Yorkshire boggart who teased the family so much that the farmer made up his mind to leave the house. So he packed up his goods and began to move off. Then a neighbour came up, and said, "So, Georgey, you're leaving the old house?" "Yes," said the farmer, "the boggart torments us so that we must go."
He shook his head mournfully, and, walking to the little window, looked out across a row of straggling geraniums at the dreary patch of waste ground on which the children were at play. Mrs. Plowson returned with little Georgey muffled in a coat and comforter, and Robert took the boy's hand.
He endeavored in a feeble manner to show to Robert Audley that his wild outburst of anguish had been caused by his grief for the loss of George; but the pretense was miserably shallow. Mrs. Plowson re-entered the room, leading little Georgey, whose face shone with that brilliant polish which yellow soap and friction can produce upon the human countenance. "Dear heart alive!" exclaimed Mrs.
"It isn't like him," he said, "it isn't like George Talboys." Little Georgey caught at the sound. "That's my name," he said, "and my papa's name the big gentleman's name." "Yes, little Georgey, and your papa came last night and kissed you in your sleep. Do you remember?" "No," said the boy, shaking his curly little head. "You must have been very fast asleep, little Georgey, not to see poor papa."
The thing that she was going to do cowed her even in the presence of her sister. 'Sophy, I do so envy you staying here. 'But it was you who were so determined to be in London. 'Yes; I was determined, and am determined. I've got to get myself settled somehow, and that can't be done down here. But you are not going to disgrace yourself. 'There's no disgrace in it, Georgey. 'Yes, there is.
'I don't see how you are to find any one to marry you by going abroad, said Lady Pomona, 'and I don't see why your papa is to be taken away from his own home. He likes Caversham. 'Then I am to be sacrificed on every side, said Georgey, stalking out of the room. But still she could not make up her mind what letter she would write to Mr Brehgert, and she slept upon it another night.
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