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Updated: May 20, 2025
Maryllia was well accustomed to it, and understood what she called 'Gigue's vernacular' but the ladies and gentlemen of her house- party were not so well instructed, and Mrs. Bludlip Courtenay, whose knowledge of the French language was really quite extraordinary, immediately essayed the famous singing-master in his own tongue.
And I have another fixed opinion which is, that the people who write most about it have never felt it. One always expresses best, even in a song, the emotions one has never experienced." Maryllia looked at her in a little wonder. "Do you really think that?" "I do! It's not one of Gigue's sayings, though I know I often echo Gigue!" She went to the window. "How lovely the garden is!
Gigue's English was his own particular dialect he disdained to try and read a single word of it, but from various sources he had picked up words which he fitted into his speech as best it suited him, with a result which was sometimes effective but more often startling.
"I think," said Mr. Longford, with a pale smile "that according to the school of the higher criticism, we must admit the natural to be the only divine." Gigue's rolling eyes gleamed under his shaggy hair. "Je ne comprends pas!" he said "Ven ze pig squeak, c'est naturel ce n'est pas divin! Ven ze man scratch ze flea, c'est naturel ce n'est pas divin! Ze art ne desire pas ze picture of ze flea!
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