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Updated: May 1, 2025
Vague ideas of persuasion and hypnotic suggestion floated through my brain; but the explanations did not fit the case and the hypnotic suggestion of crime is not very convincing to the medical mind. Then I thought of blackmail in connection with some disgraceful secret; but though this was a more hopeful suggestion, it was not very probable, considering Jeffrey's age and character.
The Edinburgh Review, which in Brougham's article on his early poems had stung him into satire and aroused him to a sense of his own powers, in later years by Jeffrey's hand gave a most appreciative account of his poems, while mourning over his morbid gloom: "'Words that breathe and thoughts that burn' are not merely the ornaments but the common staple of his poetry; and he is not inspired or impressive only in some happy passages, but through the whole body and tissue of his composition."
He had just touched her on the arm, and now, with a look of alarm, he threw up the veil which had kept her face hidden from all beholders. A vision of loveliness greeted us, but that was not all. It was an unconscious loveliness. Miss Tuttle had fainted away, sitting upright in her chair. Mr. Jeffrey's examination and its triumphant conclusion created a great furor in town.
I think he suspected me by this time; but he made no remark, and in a day or so I was summoned to carry a note to the house in K Street. Mrs. Jeffrey's funeral had taken place the day before and the house looked deserted.
He was at this period a contributor to the Edinburgh Review; and in October 1809 he inserted some praises of Bentham in a review of a book upon legislation by S. Scipion Bexon. The article was cruelly mangled by Jeffrey, according to his custom, and Jeffrey's most powerful vassal, Brougham, thought that the praises which remained were excessive.
God make this a happy year to the King and country, and to all honest men! I went with all our family to-day to dine as usual at the kind house of Huntly Burn; but the same cloud which hung over us on Saturday still had its influence. But, with my friend Jeffrey's pardon, I think he loves to see imagination best when it is bitted and managed and ridden upon, the grand pas.
"You mean that if Jeffrey was as blind as that, it would have been possible for some person to substitute a false will, which he might sign without noticing the substitution." "That wouldn't make the will a forgery," growled Winwood. "If Jeffrey signed it, it was Jeffrey's will. You could contest it if you could prove the fraud.
That immediately after this she had passed to the drawer where Mr. Jeffrey's pistol was kept.
She slept only when she was utterly exhausted; she awoke under a cloud. The long, sober-voiced consultations, the faint aura of medicine in the halls, the sudden tiptoeing in a house that had echoed to many cheerful footsteps, and, most of ail, Jeffrey's white face amid the pillows of the bed they had shared these things subdued her and made her indelibly older.
Jeffrey's sister, and when she nodded and gasped 'Yes, he blurted out that Mrs. Jeffrey was dead; that he had just come from the old house in Waverley Avenue, where she had just been found." "And Miss Tuttle?" "Didn't know what to say; just hid her face. She was leaning against the newel-post, so it was easy for her to do so.
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