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Updated: June 23, 2025
He reconnoitred at a safe distance several times during the day, but each time found Hamon smoking his pipe in the doorway, with a show of enjoyment which his cut lips did not in reality permit. He stole down in the dark and quietly tried the bolted door, but got only a sarcastic grunt for his pains. He tried to get a lodging elsewhere, but no one would receive him. He begged for food.
Then he picked up his jacket, and went back to the cottage with the knife in one hand and his jacket in the other, and went inside and bolted the door, which was not a custom in Sercq. George Hamon slept heavily that night while Nature repaired damages.
Hamon bore with the black sheep quietly, since nothing else was possible to her, though her annoyance and distress were visible enough. Old Tom was completely obsessed with his visions of wealth ever just beyond the point of his pick.
Torode lay like a log, breathing slowly, but with no other sign of life. George Hamon presently knelt beside him again and gazed long into his face, and then examined his wound carefully. Then he stood up and signed to us to follow him, and we went along the cleft to the water-cave, and sat down there in the dim green light that filtered through the water.
Through a gap in the hedge Hamon led the way towards Longue Pointe. "Here!" he said, as they came on a level piece, and rolled up the sleeves of his guernsey. "Put away your knife;" and Martel, with a curse at the implication, drew it from its sheath at his back and flung it among the bracken. Then, without a word, they tackled one another.
For, be sure that when it comes to the picking of these lots, even the best of sons will pick the plums, and when such an one as Tom Hamon is in question it is as well to mingle the plums and the sloes with an exactitude of proportionment that will allow of no advantage either way. Gard's isolation was brought home to him when he endeavoured to find another lodging in Little Sark.
That was too common a thing to require any explanation, and it was not till long afterwards, when I was a grown man, and so many other strange things had happened that it was necessary, or at all events seemly, that I should know all about my father, that George Hamon, under the compulsion of a very strange and unexpected happening, told me all he knew of the matter.
Among these fantastic little chambers Nance had played as a child, and had found refuge in them from the persecutions of her big half-brother, Tom Hamon. Tom was six when she was born fourteen accordingly when she was at the teasable age of eight, and unusually tempting as a victim by reason of her passionate resentment of his unwelcome attentions.
And he wondered to himself if this could really be the Nance he used to hate and persecute. But Nance detested him and all his ways as of old. Tom Hamon and Peter Mauger seated themselves on a rock within a few feet of the narrow slit out of which Nance and Bernel had been looking. "Ouaie," said Tom, taking up his parable "wanted me to join him in getting a loan on farm, he did." "Aw, now!"
All outward things all save Johnny Vautrin, and Marielihou, and old Tom Hamon, and several others sang abundantly of the peace and fulness and joy of life, but his heart was still so sore from its bruising that at times these outward beauties seemed only to mock him with their brightness. In the first shock of his downcasting, wounded pride said, "I will show no sign. I will forget her.
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