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Updated: June 7, 2025
Gliding grace distinguished her when she walked. Her motion was equable. As once the sons of God saw the daughters of men that they were fair, and straightway coveted them, even so Bertram Ingledew looked on Frida Monteith, and saw at the first glance she was a woman to be desired, a soul high-throned, very calm and beautiful.
She took note however of the warning that Parker had given her. She had been going too fast; she must be more careful for the future. She must proceed by such slow degrees that Mr. Ingledew himself should be deceived.
He raised the deadly weapon. Bertram Ingledew, still seated on the big round boulder, opened his breast in silence to receive the bullet. There was a moment's pause. For that moment, even Monteith himself, in his maniac mood, felt dimly aware of that mysterious restraining power all the rest who knew him had so often felt in their dealings with the Alien. But it was only for a moment.
"I can tell you of the very best tailor in London, whose cut is perfect; a fine flower of tailors: but NOT to-day. You forget you're in England, and this is Sunday. On the Continent, it's different: but you'll find no decent shops here open to-day in town or country." Bertram Ingledew drew one hand over his high white brow with a strangely puzzled air.
What has happened since I left? You look so pale and startled." Frida closed the door cautiously, flung herself down into a chair in a despairing attitude, and buried her face in her hands for some moments in silence. "O Mr. Ingledew," she cried at last, looking up in an agony of shame and doubt: "Bertram I KNOW it's wrong; I KNOW it's wicked; I ought never to have come.
They take their own manners and customs for granted, and they cannot see them in their true relations or compare them with the similar manners and customs of other nationalities. Whether Philip Christy liked it or not, the Monteiths and he were soon fairly committed to a tolerably close acquaintance with Bertram Ingledew.
One of the Bertrams, perhaps the old duke who was out in the Crimea, may have formed an attachment for one of these Ingledew girls the cobbler's sisters: I dare say they were no better in their conduct than they ought to be and this may be the consequence."
England, you must remember, is a civilised country, and taboos are institutions that belong to the lowest and most degraded savages." But Bertram Ingledew gazed at him in the blankest astonishment. "No taboos!" he exclaimed, taken aback. "Why, I've read of hundreds.
Her face was almost colorless, and there were violet tints on her eyelids and her lips. Mr. Ingledew looked at her gravely and knit his brows. He knew well that her explanation of Mrs. Vane's words was quite insufficient. Mrs. Vane had sweetly and solemnly assured him that she had begged "dear Enid" to see a doctor Mr.
So Brackenhurst accepted Bertram Ingledew before long, as an eccentric but interesting and romantic person. Not that he stopped much in Brackenhurst itself. He went up to town every day almost as regularly as Robert Monteith and Philip Christy. He had things he wanted to observe there, he said, for the work he was engaged upon. And the work clearly occupied the best part of his energies.
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