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Updated: June 8, 2025
And, after all, Juke was right. Juke was right. It was love, and I was in it, and so was Jane. Five minutes after Juke left me that night I knew that. I had been in love with Jane for years; perhaps since before the war, only I had never known it.
For a short time at Oxford he had given the Church a trial, even felt real admiration for it, under the influence of his friend Juke, and after hearing sermons from Father Waggett, Dr. Dearmer, and Canon Adderley. But he had soon given it up, seen it wouldn't do; the above-mentioned priests were not representative; the Church as a whole canted, was hypocritical and Potterish, and must go.
"I looked for your equipage in veen: the poor old man was not gratified by the soight of his daughter's choriot. Sir Chorlus, I saw your neem at the Levee; many's the Levee at the Castle at Dublin that poor old Jack Costigan has attended in his time. Did the Juke look pretty well? Bedad, I'll call at Apsley House and lave me cyard upon 'um. I thank ye, James, a little dthrop more champeane."
'I couldn't stop caring for him all at once. How could I? I suppose you'll despise me, Mr. Juke, but I just couldn't help going on loving him. It's once and for ever with me. Oh, I expect you think it was shameful of me! 'Shameful? To love? No, why? It's human nature. You had bad luck, that's all. 'Oh, I did.... Well, there it was, you see.
"But what in thunder was he doing behind those palms? That wasn't a very sensible bit of detective work, was it?" "Most detectives is asses. He was hidin' there just to earn his money. To-morrow he could go to th' juke an' tell him how slick he'd been in hearin' w'at you said to th' young lady w'en you thought nobody was listenin'. Was he hid near a window?
'But it will be jolly awkward being married to Hobart and writing in the anti-Potter press. 'She'll write for the Daily Haste, Juke said. 'She'll make Hobart give her a job on it. Having begun to go down the steep descent, she won't stop till she gets to the bottom. Jane's thorough. But that was precisely what I didn't think Jane was.
Indeed, when Sara Juke stepped out of the streetcar on a golden Sunday morning in October, her heart beat higher and more full of emotion than Mrs. Van Ness could find at that breakfast hour, reclining on her fine linen pillows, an electric massage and a four-dollars-an-hour masseuse forcing her sluggish blood to flow.
Toward the rear the young man whose skin was the wind-lashed pink sorted pamphlets and circulars in tall, even piles on his desk. Round and round the gallery walked Sara Juke; twice she read over the list of symptoms printed in inch-high type; her heart lay within her as though icy dead, and her eyes would blur over with tears.
"There; you're all right now. I gotta get back to my dance. You fainted right up against him, dearie; and I seen you keel." "Gee! ain't I the limit!" "Here; lemme help on with your coat. Right there he is, waiting." In the foyer Sara Juke met Charley Chubb shamefacedly. "I spoilt everything, didn't I?" "I guess you couldn't help it. All right?" "Yes, Charley."
She is, on the other hand, given to making something good out of as many worlds as she can simultaneously. Martyrs and Irishmen, fanatics and Juke, are thorough; not Jane. We couldn't stay gossiping over the engagement any longer, so we left it at that.
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