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Only as he doesn't want anybody to know he's in London, I couldn't tell you all who he was." "But tell me now," said Mrs. Lockton; "you know how discreet I am." "I promised not to, dearest Angela," she answered; "and, by the way, what was the name of the man you brought with you?" "Didn't I tell you? How stupid of me!" said Mrs. Lockton.
At last the bell rang, and soon Mrs. Lockton walked upstairs, leading with her a quite insignificant, ordinary-looking, middle-aged, rather portly man with shiny black hair, bald on the top of his head, and a blank, good-natured expression. "I'm so sorry to be so late, Louise, dear," she said. "Let me introduce Mr. to you." And whether she had forgotten the name or not, Mrs.
It is as if I had left off writing plays ten years ago." "Perhaps," said the stranger, hesitatingly and modestly, "he had made enough money by writing plays to retire on his earnings and live in the country." Nobody took any notice of this remark. "If Bacon was really the playwright," said Lockton, "the problem is a very different one."
She ended the message by saying she would bring the stranger with her. "What is his name?" asked Mrs. Bergmann, not without intense irritation, meaning to put a veto on the suggestion. "His name is " and at that moment the telephone communication was interrupted, and in spite of desperate efforts Mrs. Bergmann was unable to get on to Mrs. Lockton again.
Lockton, "if Napoleon had married Desdemona he would have made Iago marry one of his sisters." "I think Desdemona is the most pathetic of Shakespeare's heroines," said Lady Hyacinth; "don't you think so, Mr. Hall?" "It's easy enough to make a figure pathetic, who is strangled by a nigger," answered Hall. "Now if Desdemona had been a negress Shakespeare would have started fair."
He was a barrister who did not practise: in nothing the man for Diana. Letters came from the house of the Pettigrews in Kent; from London; from Halford Manor in Hertfordshire; from Lockton Grange in Lincolnshire: after which they ceased to be the thrice weekly; and reading the latest of them, Lady Dunstane imagined a flustered quill.
It passes over Lockton High Moor, climbs to 700 feet at Tom Cross Rigg and then disappears into the valley of Eller Beck, on Goathland Moor, coming into view again as it climbs steadily up to Sleights Moor, nearly 1,000 feet above the sea. An enormous stretch of moorland spreads itself out towards the west.
"I think Racine's boring," said Mrs. Lockton, "he's so artificial." "Oh! don't say that," said Giles, "Racine is the most exquisite of poets, so sensitive, so acute, and so harmonious." "I like Rostand better," said Mrs. Lockton. "Rostand!" exclaimed Miss Tring, in disgust, "he writes such bad verses du caoutchouc he's so vulgar." "It is true," said Willmott, "he's an amateur.
Lady Pennon has been very kind about it; and the Esquarts invite her to Lockton. Shoulder to shoulder, the tide may be stemmed. 'She would have gone under, but for you, dear Tony! said Emma' folding arms round her darling's neck anal kissing her. 'Bring her here some day. Diana did not promise it. She had her vision of Sir Lukin in his fit of lunacy.
I wrote a play about doctors, knowing nothing about medicine: I asked a friend to give me the necessary information. Shakespeare, I expect, asked his friends to give him the legal information he required." Every allusion to Shakespeare was a stab to Mrs. Bergmann. "Shakespeare's knowledge of the law is very thorough," broke in Lockton.
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