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Updated: May 9, 2025
Ask Colin, ask Eliot, ask Anne's father." "I shouldn't dream of asking them. You forget, if Jerrold's my husband, Anne's my friend." "Then for goodness sake keep her out of mischief. Keep her out of Jerrold's way. Anne's a darling and I'm devoted to her, but she always did love playing with fire. If she's bent on burning her pretty wings it isn't kind to bring her where the lamp is."
The last summer which he lived to see is now waning; let us gather, ere it goes, the "lilies" and "purple flowers" that are due to his grave. Jerrold's Biography is still unwritten. The work is in the hands of his eldest son, his successor in the editorship of "Lloyd's," and will be done with pious carefulness.
She was thinking: He'll be back for the hay harvest. "But you must. You can't go and spoil all our pleasure like that. Jerrold's and Eliot's and Colin's. And mine. I never dreamed of your not coming." "Do you mean you really want me?" "Of course I want you. So does Jerrold. It won't be the same thing at all without you. I want to see you enjoying yourself for once. You'd do it so well.
Wilton, too, was another captain who disliked Jerrold; and Chester's rugged sense of fair play told him that it was not among the enemies of the young officer that he should now seek advice, but that if he had a friend among the older and wiser heads in the regiment it was due to him that that older and wiser head be given a chance to think a little for Jerrold's sake.
How it was that these employer blow-pipers could maintain and assume such a benign and almost brotherly attitude towards each other was a little puzzling to me till I thought the matter out. Jewellers they might all be, but they did not all jewel alike. They rowed in the same boat, but not with the same sculls to use Jerrold's old joke, They blowed the same pipe, but played different tunes.
That hasn't worried him anywhere near as much as it has the others, I should judge." "I do not think it was all Mr. Jerrold's fault, mamma," said Miss Renwick, with gentle reproach and a very becoming flush. "I'm going to stand up for him, because I think they all blame him for other men's poor work. He was not the only one on our team whose shooting was below former scores."
He took them wearily, barely glancing at the superscriptions. "I had hoped for something more," he said, and passed on into the little frame house which was his sister's summer home. "Is your mother here?" he asked, looking back as he entered the door. "In the north room, with Aunt Grace, papa," she answered; and then once more and with graver face she began to read Mr. Jerrold's letter.
It's enough to make him die, everybody insisting that he's going to. And it's rot sending for Eliot." That was what Anne had done. Eliot had written to her from London: 10 Welbeck St., Sept. 35th, 1910. My dear Anne: I wish you'd tell me how Father really is. Nobody but you has any intelligence that matters. Between Mother's wails and Jerrold's optimism I don't seem to be getting the truth.
Among her suitors was Jacobs. He cut out a blacksmith and a painter, and several young farmers, and father said he never in his life had such a time to keep a straight face, as when Jacobs came to him this spring, and said he was going to marry old Miser Jerrold's daughter. He wanted to quit father's employ, and he thanked him in a real manly way for the manner in which he had always treated him.
She had known them all since the early morning, when, awaking from a heavy sleep, she called her mother by name, and asked where she was and what had happened to her. The last three weeks had been a blank, and they broke it to her gradually, and told her of Grey Jerrold's presence, and how she had mistaken him for Neil, from whom they had that day heard, and who would be with them on Monday.
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