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Updated: May 19, 2025
But Ridley was now off on grievances of his own connected with the washing of his shirts, which somehow led to the frequent visits of Hughling Elliot, who was a bore, a pedant, a dry stick of a man, and yet Ridley couldn't simply point at the door and tell him to go. The truth of it was, they saw too many people.
She was a little startled, but answered directly, "Human beings." One after another they rose and stretched themselves, and in a few minutes divided more or less into two separate parties. One of these parties was dominated by Hughling Elliot and Mrs.
Directly breakfast was over, the ladies as usual circled vaguely, picking up papers and putting them down again, about the hall. "And what are you going to do to-day?" asked Mrs. Elliot drifting up against Miss Warrington. Mrs. Elliot, the wife of Hughling the Oxford Don, was a short woman, whose expression was habitually plaintive.
"When one has laid the eggs one eats the omelette," said Hughling Elliot, exquisitely in French, a hint to the rest of them that it was time to ride on again. The midday sun which Hirst had foretold was beginning to beat down hotly. The higher they got the more of the sky appeared, until the mountain was only a small tent of earth against an enormous blue background.
Without cattle he was a serf, another man's man. . . ." His eyes slowly lost their intensity, and he muttered a few concluding words under his breath, looking curiously old and forlorn. Hughling Elliot, who might have been expected to engage the old gentleman in argument, was absent at the moment.
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