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Poor little Bonny Angel didn't look much like "running loose" at present, and as for "home," the word brought an intolerable feeling to Glory's heart, making the sunny fields before her to seem like prison walls that yet had a curious sort of wobble to them, as if they were dancing up and down in a wild way.
Glory's fastidiousness was shocked, and, forgetting her own trouble in disgust at his carelessness, she exclaimed, "You bad Billy Buttons! There you've gone lost two more your buttons what I sewed with my strongest thread this very last day ever was! An' your jacket What you been doin' with yourself, Billy Buttons?"
'Ah! retorted Joe, 'but you don't care for glory. 'For what? said the Lion. 'Glory. 'No, returned the Lion, with supreme indifference. 'I don't. You're right in that, Mr Willet. When Glory comes here, and calls for anything to drink and changes a guinea to pay for it, I'll give it him for nothing. It's my belief, sir, that the Glory's arms wouldn't do a very strong business.
One man, with a coat over his head to protect him from the already falling drops hurried past Glory, where she stood holding Bonny Angel, and advised: "Best not tarry, children, but scud for home. There's a terrible storm coming." But he did not stop to see that they followed his advice nor inquire if any home they had. Poor Glory's heart sank.
She was banished with Polly to the housekeeper's room. Glory's eyes were red with weeping. John drew Glory aside. "I have written to Mrs. Callender, and she will be here presently," he said. "It is useless," said Glory. "Polly will refuse to go. She expects Lord Robert to come for her, and she wants me to call on Mr. Drake." "But I have seen the man myself." "Lord Robert?" "Yes.
The ladies tittered, and Glory turned to Drake and said, "A pair of gloves against Ellan Vannin." "Done," said Drake, and there was general laughter. The gipsy still held Glory's hand, and looking up at Drake out of the corner of her eyes, she said: "I won't tell you what colour he is, pretty lady, but he is young and tall, and, though he is a gorgio, he is the kind a Romany girl would die for.
Then Aggie came up with an oily person in a flowered waistcoat and said, "This is my friend, guv'nor, and she wouldn't mind doing a turn if you asked her." "If de miss vill oblige," began the oily one, and then the blood rushed to Glory's face, and before she knew what else had happened, her hat and ulster were in Aggie's hands and she was walking up the steps to the stage.
Glory's hands were busy in the bread bowl, and her brain kneading its secret thoughts that no one knew or intermeddled with. Faith sat at the open window of the little tea room, and watched the young moon's golden horn go down behind the earth rim among the purple, like a flamy flower bud floating over, and so lost.
You will be better employed than that, Glory, and as long as my dear one is well and happy and prosperous in the great city where she so loves to be " The candle was shaking in Glory's hands, and the little half-lit bedroom seemed to be blinking in and out. Aunt Anna had added a postscript: "Glad to hear you are enjoying yourself in London, but rather alarmed at your frequent mention of theatres.
Another and more disorderly procession of people, decorated with oak leaves and hawthorns and singing a music-hall song, came up and collided with it. A line of police broke up both processions; and the hansom passed through. On entering the drawing-room John Storm was seized with a weird feeling of dread. The soft air seemed to be filled with Glory's presence and her very breath to live in it.
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