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Updated: July 25, 2025
The next century, if I'm not mistaken, will see a pretty big flare up of a revolution; and the soul will come out on top. Robespierre and Martin Luther won't be in it, Jewdwine, with the poets of that school." "I'm glad you feel able to take that view of it. I don't seem to see the poets of the twentieth century myself." "I see them all right," said Rickman, simply.
They used it chiefly as a place to talk in, for which purpose little illumination was required. To-night one of the windows in question was occupied by a small group of talkers isolated from the rest. There was Mackinnon, of The Literary Observer. With them, but emphatically not of them, was Horace Jewdwine, of Lazarus, who had come up from Oxford to join the staff of The Museion.
But I suppose if he saw it that way he had to draw it that way." Jewdwine turned over the pages gingerly, as if he feared to be polluted. He was at the moment profoundly sorry for Rickman in this marriage of his art with Mordaunt Crawley's.
"It wouldn't have mattered except that she will see it"; and "I wouldn't have minded if it was what he really thought." Maddox, rightly judging that Rickman would be suffering more in his affection than his vanity, called on him that afternoon and dragged him out for his usual Saturday walk. As if the thought of Jewdwine dominated their movements, they found themselves on the way to Hampstead.
When he clearly understood the proposal that was being made to him, he flushed deeply and showed unmistakable signs of agitation. "Do you think," said Jewdwine discreetly, "you'd care to try it for a time?" "I don't know, I'm sure," said Rickman thoughtfully. "Well, it's only an experiment. I'm not offering you anything permanent." "Of course, that makes all the difference."
The Cabinet Minister's cousin was in love with him, whereas he was well aware that his own cousin was not. But then he had never greatly desired her to be so. Jewdwine had neither respect nor longing for Miss Fulcher's passionate love. To his fragile temperament there was something infinitely more alluring in Lucia's virginal apathy.
But he had a son, and the son had a head on his shoulders a magnificent head that boy had. Mr. Horace Jewdwine had noticed it the first minute he came into the shop. And the magnificence of Keith's head had been pointed out to Isaac long before that, when Keith couldn't have been more than ten why, nine he was; that was the beginning of it.
"By some awful jest. Something about Mackinnon's head and the dome of the British Museum." "Well, if it was a joke, Mackinnon wouldn't see it." "No, but he'd feel it, which would be a great deal worse. Our Ricky-ticky is devoid of common prudence." "Our Ricky-ticky is a d d fool," said Stables. "Well," said Rankin, "I suppose he knows what he's about. He's got Jewdwine at his back."
He would have liked, if he could, to regard him as a culpable bungler; but even this consoling view was closed to him by Lucia. It was plain from her account that Rickman's task had been beyond human power. Jewdwine, therefore, was forced to the painful conclusion that for this loss to himself and Lucia he had nothing to blame but his own vacillation. As for Rickman
It was not the class-feeling itself that he resented; he could have forgiven Jewdwine a sentiment over which he had apparently no control; he could have forgiven him anything, even his silence and his subterfuge, if he had only delivered Lucia's messages. That was an unpardonable cruelty. It was like holding back a cup of water from a man dying of thirst.
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