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Updated: June 8, 2025
"Oh, I'll trust you for that," rejoined Leveridge, the ghost of a smile flitting across his solemn visage. Meanwhile the girl had retreated a yard or two from the window, her gaze fixed wistfully on Gay and Leveridge. She knew from their looks that she was the subject of their talk.
Thayor had repeated Leveridge's words to Alice, and she had replied: "Well, if you are fool enough to believe in Leveridge I wash my hands of the whole affair." Margaret, as Thayor had expected, was radiantly happy over the idea of the camp. She and her father talked of nothing else, Margaret taking an absorbed interest in every detail concerning the new home.
His name not infrequently occurs to the graceful lyrics with which he supplied the theatre. There are some pretty lines of his, 'Corinna, I excuse thy face', in Act v of Southerne's The Wives Excuse; or, Cuckolds make Themselves ; and a still better song, 'Bright Cynthia's pow'r divinely great, which was sung by Leveridge in the second act of Southerne's Oroonoko , came from his prolific pen.
"If you'd read some of the literature the Apple of Eden Investment Comp'ny sends us, it would be an eye-opener." "Ladies, ladies!" expostulated the chairman, "we are forgetting the object of our meeting." Then temporarily setting aside her official duties in favor of her responsibility as hostess, she hurried forward to greet a new arrival. "So glad to see you, Mrs. Leveridge.
Have you heard Purcell's setting of 'Arise, ye subterranean winds? If not, I'll get Leveridge to sing it. Has not your Handel helped himself to that? Not note for note, but in style, in dignity, in expression? Ah, I have you there. But we mustn't quarrel. You must hear the girl again. Look 'ee here.
Her face remained unmoved save her eyes, which danced with sly merriment. The men at the window burst into a roar of laughter. He who had entered last laughed the loudest and deepest, and loud and deep as was that laugh it was full of music. At its sound Gay turned sharply. "What? Dick Leveridge? You've come at the right moment. We need someone who knows good music when he hears it.
Gay turned from his friend Richard Leveridge, the great bass singer of the day, and rested his hands on the window sill. Bolingbroke had sunk into his chair, and buried in his thoughts, was slowly sipping his wine. Lancelot Vane continued to breathe heavily. "Come here, child," said Gay through the open window and sinking his voice.
Both Spiller and Leveridge saw that Gay was not to be turned from his resolution to help the girl, and presently she and her new found friend were threading their way through a network of courts and alleys finally emerging into the squalid thoroughfare between New Street and Chandos Street. The dirt and the poverty-stricken aspect of the locality did not deter the poet from his intention.
"Of course, I wouldn't repeat it everywhere. But I'm sure anything I say won't go a step further." Twenty voices replied, "Of course not," with a unanimity which gave it the effect of a congregational response in the litany. Mrs. Leveridge, having made terms with her conscience, from all appearances rather enjoyed the responsibility of enlightening her audience, "It's her husband."
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