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Updated: May 23, 2025
"It's about that girl I want to speak to you," Mrs. Presty answered, severely. "I had a higher opinion of her when she first came here than I have now." Mrs. Linley pointed to an open door, communicating with a second and smaller bed-chamber. "Not quite so loud," she answered, "or you might wake Kitty. What has Miss Westerfield done to forfeit your good opinion?" Discreet Mrs.
But by far the most interesting part of the volume is the last Epistle of the book, "From a Lover resigning his Mistress to his Friend," in which Halhed has contrived to extract from the unmeaningness of the original a direct allusion to his own fate; and, forgetting Aristaenetus and his dull personages, thinks only of himself, and Sheridan, and Miss Linley.
Linley turned on the wretch with a mind divided between wonder and disgust. "Good God, what has she done to deserve being treated in that way?" he asked. Miss Wigger's mouth widened; Miss Wigger's forehead developed new wrinkles. To own it plainly, the schoolmistress smiled.
Sheridan was the loveliest lady of her time. She was the daughter of Thomas Linley, and a singer. She came from a home which was called "a nest of nightingales," because all in it were musicians. The father had a large family and made up his mind to become the best musician of his time in his locality in order to support them. He was successful, and in turn most of his children became musicians.
To say that this was the act of an inconsiderate woman, culpably indiscreet and, I had almost added, culpably indelicate, is only to say what she has deserved. On the next occasion to which I feel bound to advert, her conduct was even more deserving of censure. Herbert Linley when no third person happened to be present. I know that the maternal motive which animated Mrs.
"In my state of fatigue, Herbert, I shall never get up our steep stairs, unless you help me." As they ascended the stairs together, Linley found that his wife had a reason of her own for leaving the drawing-room. "I am quite weary enough to go to bed," she explained. "But I wanted to speak to you first. It's about Miss Westerfield. "No." "I am only astonished," Mrs.
If she had been a few years older, Herbert Linley might never again have seen her a living creature. But she was too young to follow any train of repellent thought persistently to its end. Even in his absence he pleaded with her to have some faith in him still. She reviewed his language and his conduct toward her, when she had returned that morning from her walk.
And do you, my dear, some times wish you were Mrs. Linley?" "While we are about it, let me put a third question," Linley interposed. "Are you ever aware of it yourself, Mrs. Presty, when you are talking nonsense?" He was angry, and he showed it in that feeble reply. Sydney felt the implied insult offered to her in another way.
"Yes, I wish for a written one." "From any particular spirit?" "Yes." "Have you ever known this spirit on this earth?" "Never. He died long before I was born. I wish merely to obtain from him some information which he ought to be able to give better than any other." "Will you seat yourself at the table, Mr. Linley," said the medium, "and place your hands upon it?" I obeyed, Mrs.
"I am afraid," she acknowledged, "our worthy friend sees some objection. What is it?" "I don't presume to offer a positive opinion, ma'am; but I think Mr. Linley and his lawyer have their suspicions. Plainly speaking, I am afraid spies are set to watch us already." "Impossible!" "You shall hear. I travel second-class; one saves money and one finds people to talk to and at what sacrifice?
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