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Updated: June 20, 2025
No sane and practical man, least of all when that man happened to be Catherine Leyburn's lover, could regard it as a binding obligation upon her that she should sacrifice her own life and happiness to three persons, who were in no evident moral straits, no physical or pecuniary need, and who, as Rose incoherently put it, might very well be rather braced than injured by the withdrawal of her strong support.
Thornburgh, left alone, absorbed herself to all appearance in the school treat which was to come off in a fortnight, in a new set of covers for the drawing-room, and in Sarah's love affairs, which were always passing through some traffic phase or other, and into which Mrs. Thornburgh was allowed a more unencumbered view than she was into Catherine Leyburn's.
Leyburn's maids, and was there drinking himself into a state of rage and rampant dignity which would soon have shown itself in a melodramatic return to the drawing-room, and a public refusal to sing at all in a house where art had been outraged in his person.
Leyburn's mind. Much good might it do! But, after all, she had the poorest opinion of the widow's capacities as an ally. She and her companion said a few more excited, affectionate, and apologetic things to one another, and then she departed. Both mother and knitting were found by Agnes half an hour later in a state of considerable confusion. But Mrs.
Was the wretched thing to come off after all? He was too proud and sore to suggest an alternative. But Mrs. Thornburgh managed that for him. When he got back, he told the vicar in the hall of Miss Leyburn's flight in the fewest possible words, and then his long legs vanished up the stairs in a twinkling, and the door of his room shut behind him. A few minutes afterwards Mrs.
Three of Leyburn's sons were there: two of them farmers like himself, one a clerk from Manchester, a daughter married to a tradesman in Whinborough, a brother of the old man, who was under the table before supper was half over, and so on. Richard Leyburn wrote to ask me to come, and I went to support his cloth.
But I think, if you'll keep me, I'll stay. And she once more rested her head clingingly on Mrs. Leyburn's knee. But do you 'do you love him, Catherine? 'I love you, mother, and the girls, and my life here. 'Oh dear, sighed Mrs. Leyburn, as though addressing a third person, the tears, in her mild eyes, 'she won't; and she would like it and so should I! Catherine rose, stung beyond bearing.
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