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Updated: May 28, 2025
"Mrs. Luttrell's statement was this: that Brian Luttrell was not her son at all. I have in my possession the letter that she wrote to him on the subject, assuring him confidently that he was the child of her Italian nurse, Vincenza Vasari, and that her own child had died in infancy, and was buried in the churchyard of San Stefano.
But idle tongues still wagged, and wise heads were shaken over the circumstances attending Richard Luttrell's death. It was partly Mrs. Luttrell's fault. In the first hours of her bereavement she had spoken wildly and bitterly of the share which Brian had had in causing Richard's death. She had spoken to Doctor Muir, to Angela, to Mrs.
Luttrell's opinion," and then her manner changed, and she said, mournfully, "Do you know how badly he thinks of father? He is afraid he will never leave his bed again." "Yes, I know; and Dr. Bevan agrees with him. Poor Greta, I am so sorry for you," and she laid her hand affectionately on her shoulder. "Yes, but I dare not murmur," returned the girl, in a low voice.
Luttrell's a good man." Thus Hillyard took the train to Wadi Haifa in a chastened mood. Obviously the message was of very little, if indeed of any, importance. A man can hardly swing up to extravagant hopes without dropping to sarcastic self-reproaches on his flightiness and vanity.
You must stay with me, Brian, and let me feast my eyes on you for a time. I have no patience, no moderation left: 'my son was dead and is alive again, he was lost and is found." He raised his mother's hand and kissed it silently. The action would, of course, have been lost upon Hugo, as he could not see the pair, but for Mrs. Luttrell's next words.
He will learn the truth that I have withdrawn my claim; then he and Miss Murray must settle the matter of property between them. They may divide it; or they might even marry." His voice was perfectly calm; he had brooded over this arrangement for so long that it scarcely struck him how terrible it would sound in Mrs. Luttrell's ears. "Do you mean it?" she said, feebly.
I could not expect you to visit me." "Indeed, Aunt Margaret, I would have come if I had known that you wanted me," said Hugo, wondering whether his tardiness would entail the loss of Mrs. Luttrell's money. He recovered his self-possession and his fluency at this thought; if danger were near, it behoved him to be on the alert. "I have wanted you," said Mrs. Luttrell. "But I could wait.
Robert Barton looked more to advantage lying in bed in Dr. Luttrell's old red striped blazer than he had done in his threadbare shabby clothes the previous night; indeed, Olivia quite started when she saw him; he was certainly what Marcus called him, a good-looking fellow, the dark blue eyes were beautiful and full of expression; he flushed as Olivia asked him kindly how he felt.
She looked at him with wistful eyes: her nerveless fingers tried to press his hand. "Brian," she murmured. Then, with a great spasmodic effort: "My son!" The attention of the others had been concentrated upon this little scene; and for the moment both Fane and Mr. Colquhoun drew nearer to the bed, leaving the door of Mrs. Luttrell's bed-room unguarded.
Luttrell's kindness, and then other people could have managed the business for you. Of course, it would have been repugnant to your feelings to accept money for yourself, and another person could have accepted it in your name with a much better grace." "But that is what I wanted to avoid," said Elizabeth, with a smile. "I would not have taken one penny for myself from Mr.
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