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Updated: June 24, 2025
Stocks alone was he at his ease. He shook his hand heartily, declared himself delighted to meet him again, and looked with such manifest favour on this opponent that the gentleman was cast into confusion. "I must talk shop," cried Lady Manorwater when they were seated at table. "Lewie, have you heard the news that poor Sir Robert has retired? What a treasure of a cook you have, sir!
I always thought Lewie the least impressionable of men. I wonder what sort of woman he has fallen in love with. But it may not be true." "We'll pray that it isn't true. But I was never quite sure of him. You know there was always an odd romantic strain in the man.
It sounds outlandish, but I prefer it to Terpsichore." Thereafter they lit pipes, and, with the gravity which is due to a great subject, inspected their friend's rods and guns. "I see no memorials of your travels, Lewie," said Arthur. "You must have brought back no end of things, and most people like to stick them round as a remembrance."
He will marry some thin-lipped creature who will back him in all his madness, and his friends will have to bid him a reluctant farewell. Or, worse still, there are scores of gushing, sentimental girls who might capture him. I wish old Wratislaw were here to ask him what he thinks, for he knows Lewie better than any of us. Is he a member here?"
The old man arranged his seat comfortably, buttoned another button at the neck of the coat, and then scrutinised the driver. "It's four years four years in October since I last cast eyes on you, Lewie, my boy," he said. "I heard you were coming, so I refused a lift from Haystounslacks and the minister.
But these congregations assembled under conditions at once so formidable and romantic as made a zealot of the most cold. And over against them was the army of the hierarchies, from the men Charles and James Stuart, on to King Lewie and the Emperor; and the scarlet Pope, and the muckle black devil himself, peering out the red mouth of hell in an ecstasy of hate and hope.
"What a sleeper you are, Lewie!" said Lawrence, with a laugh, as, on his knees before the fire, he busied himself in preparing coffee for the party. "And such a growler, too, when any one touches you," observed Slingsby, buttoning on his leggings. "Sleeper! growler!" groaned Lewis, "you've only given me five minutes in which to sleep or growl."
Then things are serious, Lewie, and I, as your elder, should give advice; but confound it, my dear, I cannot think what it should be. Life has been too easy for you, a great deal too easy. You want a little of the salt and iron of the world.
He had known something of Lewis's imaginary self-upbraidings, and he was prepared for them, but he was not prepared for the grey and wretched face in the lee of the pinewood. A sudden suspicion that Lewis had been guilty of some real dishonour flashed across his mind for the moment, only to be driven out with scorn. "Lewie, my son, what the deuce is wrong with you?" he cried.
And then an odd Badminton volume, French Memoires, a Dante, a Homer, and a badly printed German text of Schopenhauer! Three different copies of Rabelais, a De Thou, a Horace, and-bless my soul! about twenty books of fairy tales! Lewie, you must have a mind like a lumber-room." "I pillaged books from the big library as I wanted them," said the young man humbly.
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