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Updated: June 4, 2025
Hurst uttered a faint moan, and with bent head passed into the little passage and out into the street, leaving Mr. Mott to return to the sitting-room and listen to such explanations as Miss Garland deemed advisable. Great goodness of heart in the face of persistent and unwelcome attentions appeared to be responsible for the late engagement.
"This is Tom Hurst I told you of, Robert," said Miss Keane; and Tom shook hands with him reverentially, remembering he was the great painter all America was talking of. "I'm glad to see you," said Mr. Robert Keane frankly. "Let us get on our skates, and you and I shall take a run together. I haven't been on the ice this season."
To begin with, the memory of Muriel Hurst had haunted him since she left; he recalled her with a regretful longing that seemed to grow steadily stronger instead of diminishing. He thought she had left an indelible mark on his life. Then there was his impersonation of Jernyngham, which he had rashly agreed to, but did not now regret.
On Friday morning, Miss Hepsy received a brief note from Mr. Goldthwaite, stating that he had attended the funeral of Mrs. Hurst, paid the little she had owed in Newhaven, and would be at Pendlepoint by the noon cars that day, when he requested Miss Hepsy to be in waiting at the depot to meet her nephew and niece. Now, Friday was Miss Hepsy's cleaning day.
"I will," said Mr. Hurst, and walked on by his side, deep in thought. "I can't ask you in," said Mr. Mott, jocularly, as he reached his door, and turned the key in the lock. "Good-bye." "Good-bye," said Mr. Hurst. He grasped the other's outstretched hand, and with a violent jerk pulled him into the street.
There was no pause to ask for entrance here, for now fully roused, the King thrust open the door, with the light from behind him falling fall upon the unpressed bed. "Hah! What I expected," cried the King angrily. "This way, Hurst. There is mystery and trickery here."
She was bidding farewell to Green Gardens and the last adventurer. By FANNIE HURST
"I think you should take better care of yourself, Jenkins," remarked his lordship. "Is any physician attending you?" "Oh, my lord, I am not ill enough yet for that. My wife made me go to Mr. Hurst the other day, my lord, and he gave me a bottle of something. But he said it was not medicine that I wanted." "I should advise you to go to a physician, Jenkins.
Nine miles north of Brighton by road, and about half-way between the two London highways, either of which may be taken, lies the large village or small town locally called "Hurst" and by the world at large, more romantically, Hurstpierpoint.
"Come, Miss Channing, just shell out what you know; it's a shame the choristers should lie under such a ban: and of course we shall do so, with Pye." "You be quiet, Hurst, and let Miss Charley alone," drawled Bywater. "I don't want him, or anybody else to get pummelled to powder; I'll find it out for myself, I say.
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