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Updated: June 4, 2025
"There was a certain resemblance between the Frenchman's phraseology and Mr. Lashmar's," said Constance; "but nothing more. Mr. Lashmar's system isn't easy to grasp. I doubt whether Mrs. Toplady is quite the person to understand it." "Perhaps not," May smiled, raising her chin. "I must read the article myself."
Look, for instance, at this article I have just been reading 'Recent Sociological Speculations. Here the good man gives us all that is important in half a dozen expensive and heavy volumes. Here's all about bio-sociology. Haven't I heard you talk of bio-sociology?" "But," cried May, "that's Mr. Lashmar's theory! Has he been publishing it?" "No.
And her eyes twinkled with appreciation of Lashmar's demeanour. Dyce walked about the room. Without knowing it, he sang softly to himself. His countenance was radiant. So, after all, Constance would be his wife.
But as yet he had not discovered the sphere which was wholly sympathetic and at the same time fertile of opportunity. Among the many possibilities of life which lie before a young and intelligent man, one never presented itself to Dyce Lashmar's meditation.
There was a long report of Lashmar's speech, which he read critically, and not without envy. Whether he came to be elected or not, Lashmar was doing something; he knew the joy of activity, of putting out his strength, of moving others by the energy of his mind. This morning, his Highgate lodgings seemed to Dymchurch, a very cave in the wilderness.
That man she is continually seeking, and she carries on a correspondence on the subject with party leaders, whips, caucus directors, and all manner of such folk. If she lives until the next general election, heaven and earth will be moved against Mr. Robb, and I believe she would give the half of her substance to anyone who defeated him." This epistle caused a commotion in Lashmar's mind.
The little room was furnished and adorned very tastefully; hook-shelves, with all Lashmar's own books carefully arranged, and many new volumes added, made a pleasant show; a handsome writing-table and chair seemed to invite to penwork. "I could have done something here," Dyce remarked, with a nodding of the head. Iris came nearer.
Woolstan, addressing herself as though with keen interest to the son of the family, a high-coloured, large-limbed young man of about Lashmar's age. "That was splendid! But you did better still against East Croydon, didn't you?" "Made my century, there," answered Mr. Barker, jerking out a leg in self-satisfaction. "How conceited you're making him, Mrs.
Curiosity as to what was going on at the great house kept him in a feverish state during these days before the funeral. Breakspeare, whom he saw frequently, supposed him to be in constant communication with Rivenoak, and at times hinted a desire for news, but Lashmar's cue was a dignified silence, which seemed to conceal things of high moment.
"Really," exclaimed Iris, with a flutter, "that is my business." Lashmar's nervous irritation was at once subdued. He looked timidly at the indignant face, let his eyes fall, and murmured an apology. "I've been going through strange things, and I'm not quite master of myself. The night before last" his voice sunk to a hollow note "I very nearly took poison." "What do you mean? Poison?" Mrs.
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