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Updated: May 25, 2025
He was sallow, and had a big nose; his hands were fat, his feet were small, and I think his head was large, but perhaps his hair made it look larger than it was, for it was thick and very black, and though it was curly, it was not like Jem's; the curls were more like short ringlets, and if he bent over his desk they hid his forehead, and when he put his head back to think, they lay on his coat-collar.
During his absence, Barton grew worse; he had fallen across the bed, and his breathing seemed almost stopped; in vain did Mary strive to raise him, her sorrow and exhaustion had rendered her too weak. So, on hearing some one enter the house-place below, she cried out for Jem to come to her assistance. A step, which was not Jem's, came up the stairs. Mr. Carson stood in the doorway.
No one saw us but Jem, and Jem's honour was safe as a rock. I knew that in the smile with which he pulled off his cap to "Mr. Halifax." "Now," said John, hastily smoothing his bed, so that my father might lie down, and wrapping his cloak round me "you must both be very still. You will likely have to spend the night here. Jem shall bring you a light and supper.
"Did you know the chap?" asked the man, who was really anxious for Jem's exculpation, and caught a gleam of hope from her last speech. "No! I can't say as I did. But he were put on as a workman." "It's maybe only one of them policemen, disguised." "Nay; they'd never go for to do that, and trick me into telling on my own son.
It appears that there was some unfortunate attachment. I think she was married or something like that." "Who told you this?" asked Dora, in a voice like a threat. "A man told Arthur at Cambridge one of poor Jem's fellow-officers. The man who brought home the diary and things." Having once begun Mrs. Agar found herself obliged to go on.
Jem sat on a little footstool, and fell asleep with his head on my knee, and did not wake till I nudged him, when our names were read out in the will. Even then he only half awoke, and the fat man drove his elbow into me and hurt me dreadfully for whispering in Jem's ear that the old miser had left us ten pounds apiece, for having saved the life of his cat.
But the awful judge sat unmoved; and the jurymen changed not a muscle of their countenances; while the counsel for the prosecution went triumphantly through this part of the case, including the fact of Jem's absence from home on the night of the murder, and bringing every admission to bear right against the prisoner. It was over. She was told to go down.
Crime and all had been forgotten by his daughter when she saw him; fondly did she serve him in every way that heart could devise. Jem had known from the first that Barton was the murderer of Harry Carson. Several days before the murder Barton had borrowed Jem's gun, and Jem had seen the truth at the moment of his arrest.
The old miser had left a long list of the names of the people who were to be invited to it and to its attendant feast, in which was not only my father's name, but Jem's and mine.
No; it was Farmer Truck come for Lightfoot. The old woman's countenance fell. "Fetch him out, dear," said she, turning to her son; but Jem was gone; he flew out to the stable the moment he saw the flap of Farmer Truck's great-coat. "Sit ye down, farmer," said the old woman, after they had waited about five minutes in expectation of Jem's return.
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