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Updated: June 22, 2025
But now all these comfortable illusions have been destroyed by 'the least little men who spend their time and lose their wits in chasing nimble and retiring truth, to the extreme perturbation and drying up of the moistures." Kennaston looked up for a moment, and Billy Woods, who had counted seven wrinkles and was dropping into a forlorn doze, started violently. His interest then became abnormal.
Kennaston, in his laughing manner, was wont to jest at her varied enterprises and term her Lady Bountiful; but, then, Mr. Kennaston had no real conception of the proper uses of money. In fact, he never thought of money. He admitted this to Margaret with a whimsical sigh. Margaret grew very fond of Mr. Kennaston because he was not mercenary. Mr. Kennaston was much at Selwoode.
He wasn't worthy of her, and that was a fact. He was only a dumb idiot, and half the words that were falling thick and fast from philanthropic lips about him might as well have been hailstones, for all the benefit he was deriving from them. He couldn't understand half she said. In consequence, he very cordially detested the people who could especially that grimacing ass, Kennaston.
And kind Hypnos loosed a dream through the gates of ivory that lifted him to a delectable land where Peggy was nineteen, and had never heard of Kennaston, and was unbelievably sweet and dear and beautiful.
So Felix Kennaston had his hour. Now Margaret has gone into Selwoode, flame-faced and quite unconscious that she is humming under her breath the words of a certain inane old song: "Oh, she sat for me a chair; She has ringlets in her hair; She's a young thing and cannot leave her mother" Only she sang it "father." And afterward, she suddenly frowned and stamped her foot, did Margaret.
And every once in a while a fish would leap and leave a splurge of bubble and foam behind that you would have sworn was an inserted lace medallion." Mr. Kennaston, as you are doubtless aware, is the author of "The King's Quest" and other volumes of verse. He is a full-bodied young man, with hair of no particular shade; and if his green eyes are a little aged, his manner is very youthful.
He found articulation somewhat difficult. "In your absence," Kennaston answered, "Mr. Jukesbury, who it appears knows something of medicine, has subjected Mr. Woods to an examination. It it would be unkind to deceive you " "Come to the point, sir," the Colonel interrupted him. "What do you mean?" "I mean," said Felix Kennaston, sadly, "that he is afraid Mr. Woods will never recover consciousness."
Kennaston quoted, solemnly: "The Eagle suffers little birds to sing, And is not careful what they mean thereby, Knowing that with the shadow of his wing He can at pleasure still their melody." "That's nonsense," said Margaret, calmly. "I haven't the least idea what you're talking about, and I don't believe you have either." He waved the dollar bill with a heroical gesture.
With the Eagle himself and with the Eagle's work in the world the grim, implacable, ruthless work that hourly he goes about our little comedy has naught to do; Schlemihl-like, we deal but in shadows. Even the shadow of the Eagle is a terrible thing a shadow that, as Felix Kennaston has told you, chills faith, and charity, and independence, and kindliness, and truth, and alas even common honesty.
Margaret's gaze was intent upon him. "Yet," she marvelled, "you made love to me very tropically." With unconcealed pride, Mr. Kennaston assented. "Didn't I?" he said. "I was in rather good form last night, I thought." "And you were actually prepared to marry me?" she asked "even after you knew I was poor?" "I couldn't very well back out," he submitted, and then cocked his head on one side.
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